


A Favor From the Other Side

by dancingkitkat



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Just Like Heaven au, M/M, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Slow Build, ghost au, insert witty tag here, major character death but not really, possibly borderline depression, sad Steve, this is where my entire summer went and I have no regrets, workaholic Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-11 23:05:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7911091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancingkitkat/pseuds/dancingkitkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Steve has 99 problems, and the ghost haunting his apartment is roughly half of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Favor From the Other Side

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of Just Like Heaven [2005].
> 
> Art by theladymania on Tumblr. http://theladymania.tumblr.com/post/149652280337/aaaaaaaaand-just-because-sleep-is-for-the-weak-i

It had been a long day for Bucky.

Bucky had found himself walking through the gray morning before the sun had begun to rise. His first destination had been the gym, where he had lifted weights, pummeled punching bags, sparred with an imaginary partner, and run on the treadmill. By the time he had finished, he was covered in a sheen of sweat that caused his shirt to stick to his back. He cleaned himself up, then headed for work.

Most of the other agents entering the Triskelion building were in business suits, but Bucky was still in his workout clothes (a white t-shirt and loose black pants, and a grey fleece jacket to hide his metal arm) since firearms training was at 7:00. He took the elevator to the fourth floor, where he joined other agents in the indoor firing range. He spotted Natasha, and he would have called a greeting, but she was in the middle of practice. Bucky grabbed an array of weapons, safety glasses, and headphones to block out the noise, and brought them to his station. He spent a half hour training, and he left the shooting targets looking worse for wear.

Bucky hailed a taxi and returned home, where he cleaned up _again_ before donning a navy blue business suit. He took another taxi back to the Triskelion. At 8:17, he sat down at his desk, in his office on the seventeenth floor. He stayed there the rest of the day, even having his lunch break there while continuing to work, filling out paperwork from previous and current investigations. Around 5, he received an urgent summons from the STRIKE team - they had found a Hydra base in the abandoned Ideal Federal Savings Bank building.

Begrudgingly, Bucky left his desk. Bucky preferred to have a schedule, and he honestly hated these surprise missions, but putting up them was just part of the job. Bucky jogged to the locker room, where he hastily suited up in his tactical gear. His uniform matched those of his teammates, except for his left sleeve had been removed. The fabric sometimes twisted between the metal plates of his arm, hindering its mobility, so Bucky had ripped off the sleeve.

Bucky climbed into a truck with Natasha, a man called Rumlow, and a few other agents.

“Hey,” Natasha greeted him as he sat on the bench across from her. “How’s it going?”

“Fine. Busy, as usual, but that’s good,” Bucky told her. The truck rumbled to life, and sped out onto the road. “How about you?”

“I’m good. Bit pissed about this sudden mission, I had plans for tonight. Clint and I were going to go to dinner with a few friends, but I don't think I’ll be able to make it.”

“I’m not too happy about it, either, but at least the overtime pays well,” Bucky remarked.

“True. You know all about that, don't you?” she said, raising an accusatory eyebrow at him.

Bucky sighed. He hated this conversation. “Don’t start this again, Nat,” he said as the truck slowed to a crawl. The driver muttered curses, but it seemed not even Shield was capable of cutting through the Friday evening traffic.

“You’re my friend, and I just want what’s best for you,” Natasha insisted, her green eyes sincere as she leaned forward. “I just think you could stand to get out more, have some fun. How long has it been since you’ve seen any of your sisters? Maybe you could visit one of them. Or you, Clint, and I could all go somewhere. How about a date? I know it’s been awhile since you’ve seen anyone. I know some people I could set you up with, I think you’d like them.”

“Thanks, Nat, I appreciate it. But I’m just fine,” Bucky said, dearly hoping this would end the discussion, but Natasha persisted.

“I know you’re fine, but you could be better than fine. Everyone needs a social life, Bucky. Humans are social creatures.”

“I’m plenty social, thanks. I see and talk with people all the time.”

“At work and at the gym, but when’s the last time you went somewhere with someone and relaxed a bit?”

Bucky hesitated. He couldn't actually remember, he realized with a pang of regret. “Nat, I’m okay, I swear. I like my work.”

“No one likes work. What you like is a schedule and control over your life.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that!”

“Not in itself, but the thing is, you can't control everything in your life, and you can't be afraid of the unexpected. That stuff can be uncomfortable, but it can also be a great experience. You can learn from and have fun in those unexpected situations. They're a part of life, and you have to learn how to deal with them.”

Natasha’s speech had been very earnest, wise, and well-meaning, so Bucky felt bad that, for lack of knowing what else to say, he simply replied, “Source?”

Poor Natasha looked ready to scream in frustration. “Dammit, Bucky, how many different times and ways do I have to say this? You have opportunities to be happy, and you're not taking them. You're just hiding in a mountain of work, and you're not living, Bucky.”

The truck screeched to a sudden halt, shoving Bucky into his neighbor. “Alright, everybody,” Rumlow announced, rising from his seat and planting his feet purposefully. He looked at everyone critically, like they were pieces on his chessboard and he was plotting his next move. “Our goal is to arrest everyone in this building, but you know Hydra. They’ll put up a resistance. Aim to disarm.”

Bucky pulled on his protective mask as Rumlow opened the back of the truck, and the squad burst out, tranquilizers at the ready.

The first floor of the building was empty. The squad thundered down the stairwell to the basement, Rumlow leading the way. Rumlow approached a door, the rest of the team at his heels. He pushed it open and entered with his tranquilizer up. As Bucky himself entered the room, he heard Rumlow shout, “Put your hands up!”

And then the bullets starting raining upon them.

~*~

It had been a long day for Steve.

He had woken up at 5:30 to work out. He hadn’t really been interested in going to the gym, so he just worked in his room, doing push-ups and sit-ups on his floor.

As it turned out, Steve didn't have anything fresh in his fridge. Huh, he hadn’t noticed that the past few days, he thought blearily. His nose crinkled in disgust as he removed a container of curdling yogurt. He opted to stop at Starbucks for coffee and breakfast. The coffee shop was bustling, and all the energy felt foreign to Steve, who kept his head down and mumbled his order.

His workday was no different from any other. He worked as a data entry clerk, transferring paper files into digital formats. It didn't pay well, and the work was deadly dull, but there weren’t too many non-artistic jobs looking for an employee with a fine art degree. The hands of the clock moved so slowly, it was as if they were pushing through honey. It was torturous, and Steve ached to leave, even though he didn't really have anything else to be doing. Finally, four o’clock arrived. Steve would have just gone home and maybe watched some television, but Sam had asked him the previous day if he could come over and help Sam paint his living room walls. So Steve trudged over to Sam’s apartment, where Sam welcomed him and tried to cheer him up as they started the painting. It felt familiar to have a roller in his hand and the smell of paint stinging his nostrils, but the familiarity failed to excite his spirit. Still, it was _something_ to do, and he probably would have gone on all night if Sam hadn’t forced him to go home around nine. “You need to sleep. Seriously, you’re like a dead man walking,” his friend had accused before escorting Steve out of his apartment and seeing him safely into a taxi.

Back at his apartment, Steve fished his key out of his pocket, only to have the key slip through his fumbling fingers. He sighed as he bent to pick it up. He was exhausted. All he wanted to do was get cleaned up and crash in bed.

Steve stuck the key in the lock and turned it. There was a click, and Steve pushed the door open. He stumbled into the apartment, shutting and locking the door behind him. He wearily toed off his shoes and made his way to the bathroom, not even bothering to turn on the lights in the hallway. This proved to be a mistake. His foot bumped into the leg of a table, and he swore loudly as pain coursed through his toes. Immediately, he instinctively worried he had woken someone up with the racket - his mom or his roommate or Peggy - but then he remembered he was alone, and had been for a long time. There was no one in Steve’s apartment but him.

In the bathroom, he cleaned up, scrubbing half-heartedly at the blue paint that had dried around his fingernails. He went to his bedroom and stripped down to his underpants. He kicked the clothes aside - he’d get them in the morning, probably - and collapsed into bed.

“ _What the hell?!_ ” another man’s voice exclaimed, right by Steve’s face.

Steve screamed like a child and shot bolt upright into a sitting position. The other man scrambled away from him, consequently tumbling over the side of the bed. Steve expected to hear a thump as the man hit the ground, but there was only silence.

Steve got out of bed and rushed to the other side, where the man had fallen. But he was gone. Had he crawled under the bed? Steve didn’t think he would fit, but then again, he hadn’t actually gotten a good look at him.

“Hello?” Steve asked cautiously. There wasn’t a peep from the other man. After a moment, Steve got on his hands and knees and peered under the bed. Nothing but a rather large collection of dust bunnies.

There was nowhere else the man could have possibly gone. Had Steve just imagined him? Was Steve hallucinating?

Adrenaline had kicked in with the panic, and Steve wasn’t very tired anymore. He searched his apartment, to make sure he really was alone again. He was, or he seemed to be. He went back to bed, after triple-checking the room, but he didn’t fall asleep for hours.

~*~

In the morning, there was no evidence anything peculiar had happened the previous night. Steve kept glancing around the room as he worked out. He forgot to get breakfast, and he chose to blame it on the distraction of the incident.

The day was nearly identical to the previous. Steve went over to Sam’s and finished the walls. Sam made Steve sit down and eat some “real” dinner, a home cooked meal Sam had whipped together. Steve hadn’t seen pasta and vegetables in what seemed like ages. He realized he had almost entirely been living off of take-out recently. His ma would be ashamed.

Once home, Steve lingered in the shower, getting the odor of paint off his skin. He stepped out of the shower and dried himself off. He went to hang up his towel, but he turned around to find a dark-haired man standing between him and the towel bar.

“Oh, shoot,” the man said, averting his eyes from Steve’s completely naked body.

Steve gasped in surprise. He brought the towel to his waist in such a rush he nearly punched himself in the family jewels. He took only a split second to check that he was properly covered before looking back up at where the dark-haired man was. Or rather, had been. Now there was no sign that there had been anyone else in the bathroom.

The man - presumably the same man from the previous night - had come and gone again.

~*~

Steve was fully clothed in grey sweatpants and a blue t-shirt the next time he encountered the strange man, so there was that to be grateful for.

Steve was alone in his apartment, sitting on the couch. He had his laptop open, and was scrolling through the news. There were articles on politicians, on Kardashians, on whatever disaster had happened with SHIELD the Friday before, something about Stark Industries… nothing that concerned Steve. He shut off his laptop and went to set it on the coffee table in front of him, but it was covered in old food wrappers and other clutter. He shoved some of it aside to make space for the laptop before turning on the television. He flipped through the channels aimlessly until he found a rerun of _Doctor Who_ that was beginning. He settled down to watch it. The theme song started playing, and someone said excitedly, “Oh my god, I love _Doctor Who_.”

“Holy shit!” Steve cried, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest. He looked frantically around the room until he found the speaker. Standing by the entrance of the living room was the man Steve had seen in his bedroom and bathroom.

“Whoa, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” the man said, raising his hands up. His left hand was covered in a glove, even though it was late spring. His leather jacket was also heavy for the time of year, when most people were sporting t-shirts. The jacket was, at least, open, revealing a white shirt. To top off the biker-esque look, the man was wearing a pair of skinny jeans, showing off his long, well-built legs. He looked like a male model, completely out of place in Steve’s living room, which led back to the problem of there being an unknown man in Steve’s apartment.

“I - What the hell are you doing in my apartment?” Steve demanded, his heart continuing to race. “Get out, or I’ll call 911. I don’t have anything valuable here, I swear I don’t.”

“No, I’m not here to rob you!” the man said, his blue eyes widening in shock. “I’m not going to hurt you or anything.”

“How did you get in? How do you keep getting in here and disappearing? What do you want?”

“I - I got in the door, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Well, how else am I supposed to get in? Walk through the walls?” he asked sarcastically, raising his eyebrows at Steve.

Steve’s phone rang from the other room.

“My phone! I gotta get that, it’s probably work, be right back,” the other man exclaimed, turning on his heel and bounding down the hall.

“No, wait, that’s not - that's my phone!” Steve scrambled off the couch and ran after the guy, but when he got to the hall, the man was gone.

His phone was on the kitchen table, still ringing. Steve glanced at the caller ID - it was Sam - and answered it.

“Hey, Steve, how’s it going?”

“Um… I have an… _issue_.”

“What kind of issue?”

“A guy keeps appearing and disappearing in my apartment.”

Sam was silent for a moment, then asked, “Um, what?”

“There’s a man who keeps appearing out of nowhere, literally out of nowhere, and I can’t ever see where he goes.”

“Um. Okay. Uh. I - I would call the police.”

“They’re never going to believe me. I sound crazy. Am I crazy?”

“You’ve seemed fine to me recently. I mean, you haven’t seemed crazy. I don’t know, did you sleep well last night? Maybe it’s just stress catching up to you,” Sam suggested.

“I don’t think it’s nerves. It’s not like I’m seeing things out of the corner of my eye. This guy’s an actual person standing right in front of me. We had a conversation, and when you called, he ran off to get the phone, but then disappeared somewhere in the hall.”

“He disappeared just like that?”

“Yeah, like - like a ghost.” Steve thought for a moment. “Uh, do you believe in ghosts?”

“Not exactly, but I’m not completely closed-minded about the idea. Right now, it kind of sounds like they exist.”

A ghost. Fantastic. That was exactly what Steve needed. On top of all the crap in his life, he had a ghost. And it wasn’t even the ghost of someone he knew.

“This requires more than a conversation over the phone,” Sam decided. “I’ll be right over.”

“Sam, you don’t have to - ” But Sam had already hung up.

A while later, there was a sharp knock on Steve’s door, startling Steve even though he knew Sam was coming over. He hurried to the door and let Sam in.

“Hey, man,” Sam said, walking in. He glanced around. “So. You have a ghost.”

“Apparently,” Steve said grimly, leading Sam to the living room, where they plopped down on the couch. “Sorry for the mess here.”

“It’s okay. Not a problem. Our problem is that ghost.” Sam shook his head disbelievingly. “Are you _sure_ it’s a ghost?”

“What else could it be?”

“I dunno. Maybe you ate something funny?” suggested Sam.

“I last ate at your house.”

“Okay, then I guess it’s not that. I'm no gourmet chef, but my food’s been known to not cause hallucinations. Also - you didn’t eat today? Come on, man, you gotta remember to feed yourself.”

“We gotta figure out how to get the ghost out of here.”

Sam took out his phone and started typing into it. He was silent for a moment, peering down at his screen, then said, “This website says you can just ask it to leave.”

“Really? No creepy rituals or anything?”

“Apparently not. Thank goodness, this was feeling like the first few minutes of a horror movie.”

“Are we supposed to ask it face-to-face or do we just talk to thin air?”

“I would guess face-to-face.” Sam cleared his throat then announced, “Hey, um, ghost guy. Can we talk?”

Nothing happened.

“Ghost? Spirit?”

More nothing.

“Guess he’s not feeling chatty. What else?” Steve asked.

Sam looked down at his phone, frowning as he read. “This website doesn’t say much more about getting a ghost out, except that ‘you have to be polite to the ghost or it could cause trouble,’ and that ‘the ghost might not know it’s dead, and you should explain to it that it’s dead and should move on toward the light.’ Huh. I’ll see what else is out there.”

After a little more research, Sam declared, “Ok, so it looks like the best course of action _would_ be to talk to it. But I dunno how we’re supposed to do that.”

An idea struck Steve. “What about a Ouiji board?”

“A Ouiji board? There was a kid in my high school history class who used one of those to talk to George Washington and get the answers to our American Revolution test. He swore up and down it worked, until he got his test back and every answer was wrong. Every single one,” Sam chuckled. Then he paused. “That probably doesn’t help our situation. Maybe the Ouiji board was fine, and Washington was just messing with him. Anyway, do you have a board?”

“No.”

“I don't either. We better run out and get one.”

Steve didn't really want to go out, but then again, there was a ghost in his apartment, so that was a good incentive to leave.

Steve and Sam went to a Target a few blocks away to buy the Ouiji board. The cashier, a bespectacled girl whose name tag read _Darcy :P_ , grinned as she checked out their Ouiji board.

“Talking to the supernatural, huh?” she said. “That’s awesome. Anyone in particular you’re talking to?”

Steve hesitated, unsure if he should be spreading this around, but said, “There’s a ghost in my apartment. Or, we’re pretty sure there is.”

“Oooh, neat. You know, I’m a bit of an expert on the supernatural. I had one at the house I grew up in, and I’ve been to a few haunted places. My friend Jane and I spent a night at the Bourbon Orleans Hotel, you know, that really haunted hotel in New Orleans? Used to be an orphanage run by nuns. Then there was this big yellow fever epidemic, and of course, a lot of people died-epidemics tend to be nasty like that. The hotel’s really haunted - Jane woke up in the middle of the night to get a drink of water, and she heard children running through the halls, right past our door, but when she looked out the peephole, _there was no one out there_ ,” she finished in a hushed tone. “Then, she turned around, and there was a nun with a chainsaw standing right behind her!”

Steve felt his eyes widen, and the girl chuckled as she finished ringing up the board. “I’m kidding, ghost nuns don’t have chainsaws. That’ll be nineteen forty-three, for the Ouiji board.”

Steve dug a twenty out of his pocket and handed it over to Darcy. She rooted around in the cash register for change as she asked, “So, your ghost, what’s it like?”

“I’ve seen it a few times, talked with it a bit.”

“Really? What’s it look like?”

“He’s a tall, dark haired man. Blue eyes. Well built.”

Darcy handed him his change, frowning. “Huh, really? That doesn’t sound like a ghost. Ghosts don’t look the way they did in life.”

“What about the nun your friend saw?”

“What? Oh, no, I was joking about the whole nun thing. I suppose you could call it a bunch of _nunsense_.” Darcy grinned. “See what I did there? Nunsense instead of nonsense? I’m really funny. Anyway, no nuns, Jane just heard the kids.”

A middle aged man stepped in line behind Steve and Sam, but Darcy ignored the customer and kept on talking. Steve felt kind of bad for holding up the line, especially since he was already done buying, but he wanted to hear what Darcy had to say. She seemed helpful. “Generally, if you see a ghost, it’s kinda vaporous, like white mist. Sometimes they’re just shaped like orbs or like kids wearing sheets on Halloween. Sometimes they have a more human shape, but you can’t really tell any details about them. Your guy sounds a bit like an apparition, which is when they look like themselves in life, but they’re still kinda see-through.”

Steve frowned. “The one in my apartment looks like a normal person, except he randomly appears, then disappears. He’s not transparent at all.”

“That’s weird. Like, really weird,” Darcy said, scrunching her nose up as she thought.

“Hey, are you almost done?” the man behind Steve and Sam asked loudly. “I’ve been waiting forever.”

“Hold your horses, I’ll be right with you,” Darcy shot back irritably.

“We’ll get out of your hair,” Steve assured Darcy, picking up the plastic bag with the Ouiji board in it.

Darcy pouted. “Aw, but that was, like, the best conversation I’ve ever had at work, besides the one where this guy’s grandmother took his motorcycle for a spin, and mowed down the neighbor’s fence.”

“Seriously?” asked Steve. Darcy nodded earnestly.

“Was she okay?” Sam asked, concerned.

“Duh, of course, otherwise it wouldn’t be funny. She was fine, and her grandson said she meant to do it, anyway, because the fence blocked the light from her petunias. Anyway, if either of you ever need any more help, or would like to save me from the almost-never-ending boredom of this stupid job, don’t hesitate to come on over. Wait, what are your names?”

Sam and Steve introduced themselves, and Darcy gave them both an enthusiastic handshake over the counter. “Nice to meet you two. Good luck with your ghost-chat-thing. Don’t get possessed.”

“Does that happen?” Steve asked, pausing.

“I’ve only seen it a _few_ times,” Darcy said lightly as she moved on to ringing up her next customer. Steve couldn’t tell if she was kidding or not.

At the apartment, Steve closed the blinds over the windows and set up the board as Sam lit candles in the darkened room. The two of them sat on the living room floor, their fingers placed lightly on the planchette.

“You wanna start?” Steve asked Sam.

“It’s your ghost. You can talk to him yourself.”

“What do I say?”

“I don’t know, bibbidi-bobbidi-boo?”

“You’re the one who did the research. What did the websites recommend saying? We should have asked the girl - Darcy - at the store.”

“The websites weren’t too specific. Just ask for the spirit.”

“Okay. Uh, spirit, appear,” Steve announced to the room, feeling incredibly ridiculous. “We would like to talk to you.”

Steve thought one of the candles flickered, but that’s all.

“Spirit, we mean you no harm. We just want to talk. Are you here?” Sam asked, his eyes casting around the room.

“Spirit, are you here?” Steve repeated.

Steve and Sam sat in silence for a moment. “Maybe we should do this at night. You always see ghosts at night,” suggested Sam. “What kind of ghost appears in the evening, anyway? That’s anticlimactic.”

“Wait, wait, he appeared earlier when I started watching TV. _Doctor Who_ , that's what I was watching.” Steve grabbed the remote, turned on the television, and started looking through the channels for _Doctor Who_.

“Hang on,” Sam said, picking up his phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking up the theme song.”

“Oh, okay. Good idea.” Steve switched off the TV.

A moment later, the _Doctor Who_ theme started playing from Sam’s phone.

“Is _Doctor Who_ on?” a new voice said. Steve jumped and turned around. The man had appeared by the Ouiji board, and was kneeling by Sam, looking eagerly at his phone. Sam didn’t notice the ghost peering over his shoulder.

“Uh, no, just the song. Erm, thank you for coming….” Steve said, not sure what else to say.

The ghost looked confused. Sam looked equally confused, but brushed it off as the music ended. “Yeah, man, of course.”

“No, I was talking to the gho - to him,” Steve caught himself, and gestured behind Sam, in the direction of the ghost. Sam frowned, his eyebrows drawing together as he looked where Steve was looking. The ghost stared at Sam, who didn’t seem to see him.

“Is he okay?” asked the ghost, nodding toward Sam.

“You - ? Uh, excuse us for a second, don’t go anywhere,” Steve told the ghost. He hurried over and pulled Sam into the hallway.

“You don’t see him?” Steve asked, his stomach twisting in dread.

“The ghost? It was there in the room? I didn’t see anyone but you….”

Steve swore under his breath and rubbed his eyes. “God, I’m actually going crazy.”

“No, wait, maybe I just wasn’t looking right - ” Sam stepped back to the entrance of the living room and scanned the room. His eyes moved right past the ghost, who was still standing by the Ouiji board. He looked at Sam in bewilderment.

“Are you sure he’s okay?” the ghost asked Steve, fidgeting a bit.

“Yeah, I think he’s fine. Hang on another second,” Steve told the ghost before ducking back into the hall again with Sam.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “Yikes, man….”

“I swear I’m not on anything.”

“Yeah, of course not. You seem fine to me, except for - all that.” Sam gestured vaguely toward the living room.

“What do I do?” Steve asked a little desperately. He wished Peggy was there, she would know what to do. “Why can I see him, but not you?”

“I dunno. Maybe talk to him, try to get him out of here? That doesn’t answer why any of this happening, but you could just get him out of here and pretend none of this ever happened….”

“What do I tell him? ‘You’re dead and I’m the only person who can see you?’”

“Gently tell him about being dead, and that he should go to the white light dead people are supposed to see,” Sam encouraged Steve. Steve nodded and headed into the room. The ghost was in the same spot as before, looking carefully around the room, like he was searching for answers written on the wall. His eyes turned to Steve when he entered the room.

“Okay, so first - is there something I can call you?”

Something flickered in the ghost’s eyes. His lips parted slightly, and his forehead wrinkled as he frowned. “I - I don’t know. I don’t know my name….”

“Oh. Um, I’m sorry....”

The ghost looked rather lost all of the sudden, which was understandable.

“We can call you something else. Can I call you… Leather Jacket?”

“Definitely not.”

“Okay, uh, you know what, just forget the whole name thing. Um, have you - have you felt weird at all lately?”

“What? Well, I’ve forgotten my name, so yeah, a little.”

“Besides that? Have you felt, I don’t know, out of place? Disconnected?”

“Um, no, not particularly. Why?”

“How do you keep getting in my apartment?”

“This is your apartment?” the ghost asked, surprised. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, pretty sure. I’ve been here for two months. They didn’t tell me the place came with its own ghost.”

Eager excitement overcame the man’s features. “There’s a ghost in here? Cool! Have you seen it?”

Steve bit his lower lip anxiously. Crap. He did not sign up for this. “I’m so, so sorry to break this to you, but you need to know - you’re the ghost.”

The man chuckled. Steve just looked at him pityingly, and the ghost stopped. “Wait, are you serious?”

“Yeah. You’re dead. I’m sorry.”

“That’s ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous,” the ghost said, as if Steve had told him the sun had turned pink.

“You should see a white light somewhere - ”

“There’s no white light - ”

“Go to the white light - ”

“Look, I’m not dead! I would know if I were dead,” the ghost huffed.

Steve grabbed a pillow from the couch and threw it at the ghost, who lunged out of the way.

“Hey!” the ghost exclaimed, glaring at Steve. “What was that for?”

“You’re a ghost, it’s going to go right through you,” Steve explained, reaching for another pillow.

“I’m not dead!” the ghost protested angrily as Steve flung a pillow right though his torso. It hit the wall behind the ghost, narrowly missing a framed photo of Steve and his ma, and fell with a soft _flump_ to the ground behind the ghost’s heels.

The ghost stared in shock at the pillow.

“I’m sorry,” Steve told him softly.

“No, no, no,” the ghost murmured, kneeling. He tried to pick up the pillow, but his hand floated through it. “No, this can’t - I can’t be dead - ” The poor man’s face was crumpled, and he looked like he had lost his entire world. Which, really, he had. He looked desperately up to Steve. “It can’t be true. I _can’t_ be dead.”

Steve slowly approached him. “I’m really sorry, but it _is_ true. You’re dead, and it’s time for you to move on. You can find peace.”

“I can’t. I can’t.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to right now. I’ll - I’ll let you be for now, let you come to terms with this.” Steve quietly left the room, leaving the ghost kneeling on the floor.

He met Sam in the kitchen, where he was sitting at the table. When Steve walked into the kitchen, Sam looked up and asked, “How’d it go?”

“Well, he knows he’s dead now. He’s trying to adjust right now.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, that’ll take some time. Poor guy.”

Steve hummed an agreement.

“What’s his name?”

“He didn’t know.”

“He didn't know?” Sam said, surprised.

“No. He kinda seemed confused in general. Didn’t know his name, didn’t seem to know how he got in my apartment, and he didn’t know he was dead until I told him so.”

Sam shook his head sadly. “That’s gotta be hard to get that kind of news. But at least he can hopefully move on to a better place now. I wonder why he didn’t move on before.”

“I dunno.”

Steve and Sam were silent for a minute before Steve asked, “You want something to drink?”

“Sure, that'd be great, thanks.”

Steve opened his fridge. The sterile white light glared accusingly at him.

“Gosh, Steve, what do you have in there?” said Sam, watching Steve. “You can't live off of three beers, lettuce, and a handful of leftovers. You gotta go to the grocery store.”

Steve nodded half-heartedly as he closed the fridge and looked around for the bottle-opener. “I know. I will. Don't worry about me, Sam, I’m fine.”

“You're not, Steve,” Sam told him gently. “You've been through a lot. But you gotta pull yourself together. I know it’s hard, it seems impossible, but you can do it, and you deserve to. You deserve to get out there and have a life. And I'm here to help you out.”

“I know. Thanks, Sam,” Steve said.

“Don't thank me. Just do it.”

Steve slide Sam his beer, and took a long sip of his own.

“Hey,” a quiet voice sounded from behind Steve. Steve looked over his shoulder at the ghost, who was standing in the doorway, seeming like he felt out of place. “I didn’t get your name.”

“Oh. I’m Steve, Steve Rogers,” Steve told the ghost. “How are you feeling?”

“Confused. I thought about it, and - I don’t remember anything about my life. Not my name, not my home, not my family,” - the ghost looked vaguely terrified when he said that - “nothing.”

Steve frowned sympathetically as the ghost went on. “But I do know - I really can’t move on. Not now. There’s something I need. I don’t know what, or where it is, but I just have one of those really strong gut-feelings, you know?”

“Yeah. Any idea how to find what you’re looking for?”

“I dunno. I’ll just wander around and see if I stumble upon anything that seems important. It’s inefficient, but it’s the only plan I have for now.”

“You can go out of the apartment?”

“I think so. Guess we’ll find out.” The ghost walked off.

“Was that him?” Sam asked when Steve faced him again. “What’d he say?”

“He says he remembers nothing about being alive and that there’s something he needs to find before he can move on, but he doesn’t know what.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

The ghost returned and said to Steve, “Apparently I can leave.”

“Why’d you come here, then? In the beginning?”

The ghost shook his head. “I have no clue. But I’m sorry for barging into your life and freaking you out.” He chuckled. “Although, now that I think about it, your face was kind of hilarious when I found you in your bathroom.”

“Shuddup, you should have seen your face. And it’s okay. You didn’t mean any harm by it.”

“I’ll let you be now,” the ghost said. “Uh, thanks for helping me out.”

“It was no problem,” Steve assured him. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” The ghost gave him a little wave, then walked off.

Steve waited until he thought the ghost was well and truly out of the apartment before giving a small sigh and saying, “I think he’s gone now.”

Sam nodded. “Okay, that’s good.”

“Thanks for helping me out, Sam. I’m really sorry, that was crazy.… I’m still not sure I’m not crazy.”

“I’m sure you’re fine, man. We’ll just give it a few days, yeah? Then everything should be back to normal.”

“I hope so.”

“Do you want to go grocery shopping tomorrow?”

“Ah, I don't want to trouble you,” Steve rubbed the back of his neck tiredly as he leaned back in his chair.

“It's not any trouble. I gotta pick up some things, anyway.”

“I've got work.”

“That won't take you all day.”

Steve suppressed a deep sigh. “Okay, then.”

Sam nodded approvingly. “Good man.”

Eventually, the beers were drained. Sam hung around for a while, then headed home. The energy in the apartment seemed to depart with him, leaving Steve in a shroud of loneliness.

~*~

For about twenty four hours after that, Steve’s life was pretty normal. He slept pretty well. Worked out in the morning. Forgot breakfast. Went to work. Went to the store with Sam, who made sure his cart was well filled. Came home. Despite all the food he’d gotten, he didn't have the spirit to make much dinner. He ended up munching on two cheese sandwiches.

He didn't know what to do after that. He sat in the living room and gazed out of the window.

“Excuse me?”

Steve jumped and looked up. The ghost was back, standing across the room from Steve.

“Oh, jeez, you startled me,” Steve said, slumping back into the couch.

“Sorry,” the ghost said sheepishly. He hung back by the door frame, looking like a nervous teenager who was about to ask his parents for a big, expensive favor.

“It’s okay. Something the matter? I kind of didn’t expect to see you again….” Steve winced a bit, hoping the ghost couldn’t hear the slight disappointment in his voice. Not that Steve disliked the ghost personally, but… he wasn’t interested in having an amnestic ghost hanging around. It freaked him out a bit, especially after Sam couldn’t see him, and he didn't have the energy or heart to deal with it.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I - I’ve been wandering around the past day. I haven’t had any luck remembering anything, although I passed a pet store and remembered I hate chinchillas, but that’s not helpful.”

“You hate chinchillas?” Steve said, vaguely curious. “What’s there to hate about chinchillas?”

“When I was in eighth grade, Dum Dum Dugan snuck his chinchilla to school to show his friends. It got loose during class, and I grabbed it as it was running around and that thing took a huge chomp out of my pinky. I think I still have the scar on my left hand, but I can’t get the glove off,” said the ghost, wiggling his fingers at Steve. Steve chuckled a little.

“I’ve never heard of mean chinchillas. But I’m talking to a ghost right now, so I guess anything’s possible.”

“Yeah, guess so.”

An awkward silence hung in the air. After a minute, the ghost said, “I didn't come here to share crazy chinchilla stories, actually. It’s just - I’ve been wandering around all day, and no one seems to be able to see or hear me, except for you. And I need help. I need to find whatever it is I’m looking for.”

Steve bit his lower lip and shook his head. “I’m sorry, I can't help you.”

“Please, I know I’m asking a lot, and I hate to ask it. I generally take care of my own problems alone. But I think you're the only person who can help me.”

“I’m sorry, I just - I can't help you.”

The ghost ran his hands through his hair anxiously. “Please, I’ll pay you back, somehow.”

Steve just shook his head again. “I don't know how to help you. I can barely help myself. I'm a mess.”

The ghost looked sympathetic, but he pressed on. “I'm sorry to hear that, but please. I'm _desperate_.”

Steve got to his feet and approached the ghost, crossing his arms. “I told you, I’m sorry, I’d like to help, but I can't.”

“Come on, man. I don't have anyone else.”

“What do you even need? You’re dead, what’s there left for you to do?”

“I don't know exactly what, but I know there's something I _have_ to do.”

“What, completely disrupt my life by haunting my apartment?”

The ghost’s grey-blue eyes turned angry. “Gee, sorry I disturbed you from your lounge time. Whenever I see you, you're not _doing_ anything, but you can't spare the time to help someone out?”

“There's nothing I can do to help you!”

“You could get off your lazy ass and just _try_!”

Steve could feel his blood boiling, and he snapped “I’m not lazy. You don't know me.”

“I know enough. You sit around and watch TV and stare out the window like a wistful damsel in distress. Like your girlfriend left and you’re still pining.”

“I didn't get dumped. My wife _died_.”

The ghost’s face changed from angry to shocked to horrified.

“Oh god. I - ”

“Get out.”

Looking mortified, the ghost just nodded and turned on his heel before walking through a wall and disappearing.

Alone again, Steve’s anger melted into a familiar deep sadness. He stood in the doorway for a few minutes, before trudging to his bedroom. It was still early, but he didn't see any point in doing anything else.

~*~

After work the next day, Steve sat in his bedroom, hoping to avoid the living room after the previous night’s disaster. At least he probably wouldn't see the ghost again. Steve had his laptop open, and was idly scrolling through his Facebook dashboard for lack of anything better to do.

Peggy’s sister Sharon had reblogged a picture of a SHIELD team all posing together, captioned, “ _Rest in peace to the good men and woman who died fighting for good_.” Steve felt his heart go out to them - Peggy had been with SHIELD, and she could have easily died on a mission like these people had. Though the fact was of no consolation, she had instead died in a car accident on her way home from work. Steve glanced at the faces of the people in the picture. Everyone was beaming at the camera. They all looked so full of life. It was hard to think most of them were now dead.

Steve went to keep scrolling, but then he froze.

There was a man in the picture, his arm slung over the shoulders of a red-haired woman. He was in tactical gear, and his hair was pulled back, but Steve recognized him instantly.

The ghost.

Steve stared at the photo for a minute, shocked, before opening up a new tab on Google and typing in, “ _SHIELD attack_.”

The news was so full of articles, it was difficult to find where to start. There was a Wikipedia page, so Steve looked at that. According to the page, the previous Friday, a SHIELD team had gone to arrest a group of Hydra agents discovered in an abandoned bank. However, when they got there, the entire team was killed by Hydra, except for two people, identified as Brock Rumlow and Natasha Romanoff.

One survivor, Agent Romanoff, reported, “ _It was supposed to be a normal mission, but when we got to the bank to make the arrests, Hydra started firing on us. All I heard was the whiz of bullets and the screams of my teammates. I saw them crumple, their blood staining the ground. I wanted to stay and help my teammates, but all my instincts told me to run. I just barely got out alive. Got shot through my shoulder. I managed to get of out there, and met Rumlow, the only other survivor, back on the streets. It was the most horrifying thing I’ve ever seen or experienced_.”

Rumlow added, “ _I don’t know how I’ll ever be okay again. I saw my teammates get killed. I know they’re all dead, and maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I should have done more to help them. I could have saved them, but I guess I won’t ever know._ ”

SHIELD was unable to recover the bodies. They were at a loss as to what to do. That had been one of their best teams that had been almost entirely wiped out. They were considering sending in dozens, maybe hundreds of agents into the building in a mass charge to overwhelm Hydra, but it would likely be a suicide mission for many of them, and SHIELD didn't even know how many agents Hydra had. The best SHIELD could do was keep the building and surrounding areas under careful surveillance to make sure Hydra didn't go anywhere.

Steve was horrified by what he had read. What an awful way to die…. Steve had spent many sleepless nights worrying Peggy’s life might end in a similar manner.

It was with this thought Steve felt connected to the ghost. He felt pity for him as he thought - _this guy was like Peggy - he was alive and well before he died a terrible death while trying to protect society._

A sudden determination seized Steve. He thought for a moment, then searched online _SHIELD attack fallen agents_. A news article popped up. It listed the names of the agents who had died, but it didn't have any pictures, so Steve didn’t know which name belonged to the ghost. Steve searched each agent, one by one, on Facebook. The problem with that, Steve quickly realized, was that more than one person could have a single name, so for the name of each agent he searched, he would get the profiles of several different people with the same name. He just gritted his teeth and searched deep through Facebook. But he reached the end of the list of names, and he hadn't found the ghost’s profile.

Maybe the ghost didn't have a Facebook page. Why hadn't he thought of that before? He sighed, and repeated his search method on Google Images.

It was there, while searching James Barnes, Steve found a picture of the ghost. He felt a surge of victory and relief, then clicked on it. He was brought to an old article on a high school football team, with quarterback James “Bucky” Barnes.

James “Bucky” Barnes. The ghost was James Barnes. Steve tried searching for Bucky Barnes on Facebook. The first profile he found belonged to the ghost. On his page, there was a smattering of heartfelt comments from friends, talking about what a great person he had been, and how he would be missed terribly. It wrenched Steve’s heart to read some of them, the ones that oozed pain and grief. Someone had posted a picture of Bucky hugging and laughing with a young woman who looked like she could be his sister. Their eyes were full of joy.

Steve shut his laptop and stood up. He headed out into the hall, determined to find Bucky, before realizing he was still in pajama pants. He quickly changed, then went looking for Bucky.

Bucky hadn't reappeared since the unfortunate encounter the previous night. Steve had no idea where he could possibly be. But Steve was determined to help him, even in the face of overwhelming odds.

Steve hit the streets. His head swiveled from side to side as he looked up and down the sidewalks, searching for dark, long hair and a leather jacket. He didn't want to draw attention to himself, but really, what was most important was finding Bucky. So he mustered up his courage and called, “Bucky! Bucky!” Then, he realized Bucky didn't know his own name, and Steve wasn't sure if he would recognize it if he heard it.

Hours passed as Steve combed the streets of D.C., but his efforts were in vain. Once the streetlights had been turned on, and all the cars were using their headlights, Steve finally turned back home. What if he never found Bucky? Steve wondered if he had missed his window to help him. Steve gritted his teeth, angry at himself. Why hadn't he just offered to help when he’d had the chance to? Maybe now poor Bucky would wander the earth forever, searching endlessly for _something_ , with no help and no company, because the only person who could have helped didn't.

Steve trudged up the back stairway, mentally beating himself up for all his recent mistakes. He glanced out a window on the third floor landing, and did a double take. A dark haired figure in a leather jacket was standing on the fire escape, leaning on the railing and gazing down the alleyway - Bucky!

Steve felt a surge of combined relief and disbelief - he’d been searching all of D.C. for hours, and it turned out Bucky had just been hanging out on the fire escape. Steve tapped on the glass, and Bucky jumped, clearly startled. He turned around, looking confused, and saw Steve. His face fell.

“Bucky!” Steve called through the window. The ghost’s eyebrows knit together as Steve beckoned for him to come over. Bucky walked through the window like it wasn’t even there, and joined Steve on the landing.

“What’s this about? Look, I’m sorry for hanging around the building. I thought it’d be okay, as long as I avoided you,” Bucky said apologetically, his right hand playing with the hem of his left sleeve.

“No, no, it’s not that, not at all. I’ve actually been looking for you all afternoon,” Steve said. “I’m really sorry about last night, and about how I’ve been acting. I shouldn't have shoved you away - I was being selfish and unkind, and I’m sorry. If you’ll let me, I’d like to help.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Really? Why?”

Steve sighed as he realized what he had to tell Bucky. “I was scrolling through my Facebook, and I saw a picture someone posted, and you were in it.”

“What, really?” Bucky said, his eyes widening in surprise. “What kind of picture? What was I doing?”

“Apparently, you’re - you were a SHIELD agent,” Steve said. “I found out who you are, and how you died. Your name is Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky’s mouth fell open. “ _Bucky_?”

“Yeah.”

“No way. You're joking, aren't you?”

“No, I'm not.”

“What the hell is a _Bucky_?”

“I mean, your first name is James. Bucky’s a nickname,” Steve explained, but Bucky just shook his head disbelievingly.

“You’re telling me my name is _Bucky_? What the hell sort of name is that? How do you get Bucky from James? What the hell?” Bucky looked thoroughly disgruntled. “I mean, now that you say that, that sounds right. Bucky sounds right, but - seriously? _Bucky_?”

“I could call you James if you prefer,” Steve offered, but James - Bucky - shook his head.

“No, I think only my mom calls me that when she’s mad at me.”

“Well, then Bucky it is.”

“Bucky,” Bucky scoffed, shaking his head before moving on. “You said you know how I died?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“Are you sure you want to hear it?”

“I'm sure,” Bucky said. He looked calm, but Steve caught his muscles tensing and his jaw tightening as he braced himself.

Steve told him about the SHIELD accident. Bucky pressed his lips together so tightly they lost their color, and Steve faltered off.

“No, no, go on,” Bucky said, inhaling shakily. “Go on, please.”

So Steve finished. Bucky closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, covering his eyes with his gloved, trembling hand. “I remember it,” he stammered, sounding haunted. “I can remember it, until - until the bullets. I guess - I guess that's when I bite it then, huh?” He gave a laugh that sounded like a sob.

“I'm so sorry,” Steve said. He reached to touch Bucky’s shoulder comfortingly, but his hand slipped through Bucky’s body like it was an illusion. Steve’s hand fell limply back to his side, and he repeated, “I'm sorry.”

“I'll be okay, just - I just need a minute, and I'll be okay,” Bucky said. Steve stepped back, feeling useless as he watched Bucky compose himself.

“You know, you died trying to do a good thing,” Steve said softly. “You were doing your duty, you were fighting for good.”

Bucky’s lower lip quivered. He rubbed his eyes before opening them. “Yeah. It - it was honorable. I - I did my best.”

They were silent for a minute before Bucky took a final deep breath - or rather, he seemed to, since he couldn't actually breathe - and stood up straight again. “You didn't say. Why did you change your mind about helping me just because you found out how I died?”

“At first, I just empathized with you, because my wife died with SHIELD, same as you. But then I - I realized, when I read about what happened to you, and the position you were in, I realized you’re in a worse position than I am, and that - I could help. I didn’t think I could even help myself, but then you showed up, and you’re the one who really can’t help yourself. And I'm sorry, I don't mean to say you're helpless or anything - ”

“It's okay,” Bucky assured him. “I kind of am. But thank you.”

Steve shrugged. “It's the right thing to do. I'm just sorry I didn't it sooner.”

“It's okay. It doesn't sound like you've had it easy,” Bucky said, his tone sympathetic.

Steve’s eyes flickered to the floor. “Her name was Peggy. My wife. She worked with SHIELD, too.”

“Peggy Rogers? I think I've - ”

“No, Carter. She kept her maiden name. Peggy Carter.”

“Oh! I knew her. Of her, more like. We never really talked, but everyone at SHIELD knew how skilled an agent she was. I'm so sorry you lost her. That’s terrible.”

“Thank you,” Steve said quietly. “She died a year and a half ago, in a car accident. I guess part of why I'm helping is you - I couldn’t help her. I _can't_ help her. She's gone. But you’re here, and I can help you.”

“Thank you.”

Steve just nodded.

A door from above creaked open, and Steve heard footsteps. He cleared his throat, turned to Bucky and said, “Um, let’s go to my apartment. We can talk more there.”

Bucky nodded, and the two jogged up the steps, past the neighbor headed downstairs. Once they reached Steve’s apartment, Steve had to pause to dig out his keys. Bucky just smirked and breezed through the door.

“Show off,” Steve muttered to the now empty hallway as he fished out his keys.

Suddenly, Bucky’s head popped out of the door and he yelled “Boo!” right in Steve’s face. Steve screamed and dropped his keys just as his next door neighbor stepped out of her apartment.

“Good lord, are you okay?” The neighbor - Mary? - asked, looking alarmed.

“Yeah, yeah - sorry, just - no, I'm good,” Steve said as Bucky (unseen by the neighbor) cackled, stepping out of the door. “I'm good, thanks, sorry. Nice seeing you.”

“You too….” she said, giving Steve a bewildered look as she locked her apartment and hurried down the hall to the stairwell.

“I hate you,” Steve muttered, plucking his keys up off the ground.

“Oh, please, that was fantastic. I wish someone had caught that on camera,” Bucky giggled, grinning widely as Steve entered his apartment.

“You’re the worst ghost I've ever known.”

“Am I the only ghost you've ever known?”

“Yes.”

“Then, by default, I am the worst ghost you've ever known, but I'm also the best ghost,” Bucky pointed out merrily as he followed Steve down the hall to his kitchen, where Steve got himself a glass of water.

“No, you're just the worse,” Steve teased, leaning against the counter, relieved Bucky’s spirits had recovered from earlier, at least outwardly.

“Aw, don't be like that,” Bucky whined, standing next to Steve. Steve sipped his water, then reached through Bucky to set it on the counter. Bucky yelped in surprise, and Steve grinned, looking at Bucky.

“Revenge is sweet,” he said.

“Shuddup,” Bucky replied.

“Make me,” Steve replied, automatically firing off the sarcastic comment before realizing it sounded more… suggestive than sarcastic. That wasn't at all what he had intended. Steve’s ears went red, and he quickly snapped his mouth shut. He realized they were very close together, almost shoulder to shoulder, and that Bucky's lips were a really attractive shape.

Bucky didn't seem to notice anything. He just grinned before adapting a more serious expression and saying, “I would, but we do actually have some things to talk about.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Steve said, gratefully embracing the change of topic. “Yeah, I know I'm going to help you, but exactly how am I going to do that?”

“Beats me,” Bucky said with a sigh.

“You have absolutely no idea what you’re looking for or why?”

“I wish I could say I do, but I'm afraid I really don't.”

The two fell into silence, both trying to think of a solution. The best they could come up with over the course of the next half hour was to continue Bucky’s trend of just wandering around and hoping to stumble upon something.

Bucky went to pound the countertop with his fist, but his hand smoothly sailed through the laminate. “I wish there was something more effective we could do,” Bucky complained, frustrated. “I’ve got no trouble doing a ton of work, I just need a structured plan to complete.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Steve promised. Bucky looked unconvinced. “It’ll take time, but we’ll get there.”

They didn't get any further that night. Eventually, Steve headed off to bed. Before leaving, he offered to leave the lights on for Bucky, who said, “It’s fine, I don't want to waste your electricity all night.”

“It's not wasted if you're using it. Can I at least leave the TV on for you?”

Bucky shook his head, but then paused. “Uh, actually, if you don’t mind leaving it on it on Discovery channel or a _Doctor Who_ marathon or something, that’d be fantastic.”

Steve left Bucky in the living room with just the TV on. As Steve exited, Bucky called, “Steve?”

“I - I just want to say thank you for helping me, and I’m sorry about what I said to you yesterday. It was mean and unwarranted, and completely untrue. You’ve got a good heart.”

“Thank you. Apology accepted. And I’m sorry I was a selfish jerk to you.”

“It was justified, I was an ass to you.”

“Well, you were justified too, I was being a big ass.”

“But I was like a super big ass, and are we really arguing about who was justified in being an ass?”

“I think we are. Truce?” Steve cocked an eyebrow in amusement.

Bucky cracked a grin. “Truce. G’night, Steve.”

“Night, Bucky.”

Steve switched off the living room light, and he glanced back to see Bucky curled up in a corner of the couch, his face ghostly in the soft blue glow of the television.

~*~

The next morning, Steve awoke feeling more tired than he had felt when he went to sleep. He had no energy and just wanted to stay in bed, until he remembered Bucky was somewhere in the apartment, waiting for Steve to come help him start making plans. He had to get up. Bucky was relying on him.

So Steve pulled himself out of bed and dragged himself to the bathroom. He went through the motions of his morning routine before heading to the living room. The TV was still on, but Bucky didn't seem to be paying attention to it any more.

“Morning,” Bucky said cheerfully, getting up off the couch. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah, fine,” Steve lied before automatically asking, “You?” He realized with a jolt what he had said. He groaned and hit his forehead with his palm. “Sorry, sorry, just pretend I didn't say that.”

“Don't worry bout it,” Bucky said, walking in the direction of the kitchen. Once there, he stood by the counter, watching Steve expectantly. Right, breakfast. Steve got himself some cereal, and ate standing up.

“Have any brilliant ideas during the night?” Steve asked, munching on some Frosted Flakes.

“Actually, yes! It’s not brilliant, but it’s something. Now that we know my name, we can find out where I live. What if what I’m looking for is there?”

“Maybe,” Steve said. “But how are we going to get inside? I mean, I don't have a key.”

Bucky suddenly broke into an impish grin. “Have you ever wanted to break down a door?”

Steve scooped the last spoonful of cereal into his mouth, and spoke around it. “It sounds pretty badass, but I've never gone to anywhere where I’ve had to break down a - “ Steve stopped chewing. “Oh.”

Bucky’s grin grew wider.

~*~

“Kick right here.”

“Are you sure? That looks a bit far away from the lock.”

“I'm a SHIELD agent. I'm a certified master of badassery. I know how to kick down a door like a _boss_.”

Steve took a deep breath. “Alright.” He eyed the spot Bucky had pointed out, raised his right foot, then paused, saying, “Are you absolutely sure this - ”

“Just kick the door, Steve!”

Steve kicked the door.

The wood began to splinter where Steve had kicked.

Bucky clapped encouragingly as Steve kicked twice more, and the door swung open.

“Yeah, Steve! There we go!” Bucky tried to high-five Steve, but his hand traveled straight through Steve’s. He didn't let that dampen his mood, though. “That was incredibly badass. Do you feel like a badass? You should feel like a badass.”

Steve laughed as he walked inside the apartment, shutting the beaten door behind him. “Alright, where do we look first?”

Bucky gazed around the apartment, and Steve wondered what memories were coming to him. But Bucky didn't tell, he just said, “We’ll start with the bedroom. I think it’s this way.”

Bucky’s apartment was nice, nicer than Steve’s. The windows were larger and the kitchen was cleaner and more modern. The living room was carpeted, and there was a long, low white sofa with clean lines and stiff looking cushions, like it hadn't been used often.

When Steve and Bucky reached the bedroom, they found a comfortable-looking queen sized bed with light gray covers. The left side of the bed was slightly rumpled from when Bucky had last slept in it. There was a small collection of framed pictures on the cherry nightstand, along with a few books and a little Yoda statue that looked like it had been sculpted, painted, and glazed by hand.

“Oh, I remember that now! That's from my sister Emily,” Bucky said, pointing at the statue. “Art’s always been her hobby.”

Steve looked carefully at the statue. It was well done, with neat lines and an expressive body. “That's really good,” Steve admired it. “I would have added a few more wrinkles round the eyes, nose, and lips, and I think he should be leaning on his staff a bit more. But otherwise, it's really, really good. Your sister’s talented.”

“Sounds like you've got a good artist’s eye,” Bucky said. Steve shrugged modestly.

“Well, I used to be an artist. Actually worked as one, before Peggy died. After that, I kind of couldn't find much cause to keep up with it.”

“I'm sorry. Do you think you'll ever get back into it? I mean, if it made you happy….”

“Someday, maybe,” Steve said without much real hope in his voice. But he forced himself to push aside his own personal issues and said, “Alright, let’s look around and just see if there's anything that seems important to you.”

Bucky stood by the foot of the bed and spun around slowly, his eyes scanning the room. “Alright,” he declared, “let’s start with the nightstand, then move on to the clothes drawers and the closet. If we don't find anything in here, we’ll move on to the living room, and - ”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Steve said as he knelt by the nightstand and opened the top drawer.

“Oh, right, of course. Sorry.”

Steve started sifting through the two nightstand drawers. The top drawer was very neat and organized, but they didn't find anything that seemed important. The bottom drawer was unexpectedly disordered - Bucky’s “junk drawer,” crammed full of pens, crumpled notes, a movie ticket stub from the previous year, and even a tie. From the mess, Steve pulled out a red paper heart, a child’s handmade Valentine’s Day card.

“From my nephew,” Bucky explained, smiling fondly.

Steve next pulled out a mostly-full box of condoms.

“Not from my nephew,” Bucky said, his smile falling as a red tinge crept up his face. Steve snickered and set the box back.

Suddenly, Steve heard the apartment door swing open with a soft creak, followed by the sounds of approaching footsteps. Steve felt all his blood drain to his feet. He whipped his head around to look at Bucky, who looked as alarmed as Steve felt.

“Hello?” a man’s timid voice called. “Is anyone here?”

“Go, go,” Bucky hissed to Steve.

“Why me?” Steve hissed back, standing up and shooting a nervous look in the direction of the hallway.

“Because I'm _dead_.”

Filled with trepidation, Steve stepped into the hallway.

A curly-haired man with glasses and an aluminum baseball bat was standing in the hallway. He lifted the bat threateningly when he saw Steve, who quickly threw his hands in the air.

“You have three seconds to put back everything you stole before I call the cops,” the man said.

“I - I'm not here to rob anything,” Steve stammered. The man didn't look convinced.

“Tell him you're my boyfriend and you came here to get your condoms back,” Bucky quickly said from where he was standing behind Steve.

“ _What_ \- ah, sorry, I, uh, I’m Bucky’s boyfriend, and, uh, I just came here c-cause I left some things here,” Steve said, hoping his face didn’t betray him.

“Why’d you kick the door in? Why not just call Bucky and ask him if you could get your stuff?”

Steve’s heart dropped into his stomach, and with genuine shock, he asked, “You didn't hear?”

“Hear what?”

“Bucky died last Friday.”

The man’s eyes widened, and the baseball bat fell to his side. “What?”

“He worked for SHIELD. He died on a mission. You didn't hear about the SHIELD-Hydra disaster?”

The man shook his head, looking stunned. “N-no, I heard about SHIELD, but I had no idea about Bucky. I live right next door, and I noticed I hadn't seen Bucky for a while, but honestly, we’re not that close - I didn't even know he was dating. I've gone weeks without seeing him before, so I didn't think anything of it.”

“Have any of the other neighbors noticed?” Steve asked.

“Don't think so. They haven't said anything to me.”

Steve couldn't believe that none of Bucky’s neighbors hadn’t noticed he hadn't been home in a week. Steve wasn't particularly close with his neighbors, but they would have noticed if he'd been gone for as long as Bucky. Wouldn't they?

Steve spared a glance back at Bucky, who looked bewildered and hurt. Steve’s heart ached for him, and he wished Bucky hadn't heard a word of the conversation.

The neighbor scratched his head awkwardly, pain in his eyes. “I'm really, really sorry to hear about Bucky. If there’s anything you need, don't hesitate to ask. I think the landlord’s got spare keys for all the apartment doors, just so you know.”

“Oh. Yeah, yeah. Of course. Sorry. I just - I haven't been right since he died,” Steve said, and he found it surprisingly easy to look sad and lost.

“Yeah, of course. That's fine, that's normal.” The man looked at his baseball bat in embarrassment. “I'm - I should probably go now. I’m really sorry for the trouble, and I'm sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Steve said as the man backed out of the hall. Steve sighed as the door shut, and he turned to face Bucky.

Bucky plastered on a very forced-looking smile. “Well, now you've met my neighbor, Bruce Banner. Or ex-neighbor. We, ah, we didn't know each other very well, obviously, so, um….” Bucky’s voice tapered off, and he slunk back into his bedroom.

Steve wanted to say something to console Bucky, but Bucky didn't seem to want to talk about what had happened, so the two men returned to their search, acting as if Bruce had never walked in the door.

They didn't find anything, but Steve did learn a bit more about Bucky. He learned from Bucky’s photos that Bucky had three younger sisters - Becca, Emily, and Leah. He learned from Bucky’s fridge that Bucky had a serious love for plums (there were about eight plums in the refrigerator drawer, though they were all beginning to rot, much to Bucky’s grief). He learned from Bucky’s drawers that he liked to lounge in comfy sweatpants.

There were two more significant discoveries, though neither helped the main goal of finding Bucky’s Whatever-It-Is.

The first had been made in Bucky’s bedroom. Steve had been looking through the closet full of business suits when he heard Bucky go, “What the _shit_.”

“What?” Steve asked, poking his head out of the closet. Bucky was kneeling by his nightstand, examining the pictures. His eyes, a light silvery-blue in the mid-afternoon light, were wide as he peered closer at a photo.

“What the hell’s with my hand?” Bucky asked. Steve came over, and Bucky pointed wordlessly at a photo.

In the photo, Bucky was still wearing a jacket. His family was gathered around a kitchen island, grinning as Bucky’s sister Becca blow out the candles on her birthday cake. Bucky’s elbows were resting on the countertop, his hands clasped together. Half his fingers seemed to be almost reflecting the light of Becca’s candles and the flash from the camera.

Bucky looked over the rest of his pictures, then hurried out to his living room. He had a bookcase, which was mostly full of books. But it was a large bookcase, and the empty spaces were filled with more framed photos.

“Can you get that one in the back for me?” Bucky asked Steve, pointing.

“Yeah, ‘course,” Steve said, carefully reaching around a few other pictures to pull out a 4 by 6 picture in a simple black frame. Bucky’s hair was much shorter than its current chin-length. He was standing in front of the Washington Monument, wearing a black T-shirt. His left arm was made entirely out of metal.

Beside Steve, Bucky tentatively touched his gloved left hand.

“I forgot about that,” Bucky said, stunned.

They were silent for a moment before Steve said, sincerely, “I’m sorry.”

“No, no. It’s - I’m okay.”

Steve hesitated before saying, with hopes of cheering Bucky up, “Is it alright if I say that it looks awesome?”

A small smile broke out on Bucky’s face, and he seemed to shake out of his shock a bit. “Thanks.”

Feeling more confident, Steve went on. “Very badass. You look like a superhero.”

Bucky relaxed as he said, “Yeah, ha. Thanks. I - I remember I lost it on a mission. Explosion. Hey, maybe that's what I’m looking for. My left arm.”

Steve couldn't help himself. He laughed before covering his mouth. “Crap, sorry.”

“No, don't be! I'm the one who made the joke. It's meant to be funny.”

“Hey, what if you dressed up as Luke Skywalker for Halloween? He’s got a metal arm, right?”

“I do like Star Wars,” Bucky said, considering the idea. “I'm actually a huge science-fiction fan. I've got all of Asimov’s _Foundation_ series here, look.” He pointed at a spot on his shelf containing several pocket-sized books with brightly colored covers. “Got a couple of _Star Trek, Star Wars,_ and _Doctor Who_ novels. Oh, here’s _The Martian._ Fantastic book. They came out with a movie last fall, but I still haven't seen it. Maybe that's what I'm sticking around for.”

“We could watch it tonight,” Steve offered. “It's been ages since I've had a movie night.”

“Are you sure? About watching the movie tonight, I mean,” said Bucky. “You didn't have other plans?”

“No, did you?” asked Steve, half-jokingly.

“Well, no, of course not. I just - I’m not used to doing things spontaneously.”

“Oh, then we don't have to watch it if you don't want to.”

“No, no, I’d like to. Like you said, I really don't have any other plans.”

The second discovery was a little pocket calendar lying on top of the glass coffee table. It was full of work dates and appointments, along with some birthdays and a few outings. In the front of the calendar, there was some personal information, like Bucky’s name, allergies, emergency contacts, and the phone number and address of his sister.

“What if we visit your sister? Maybe she’ll know what you’re looking for,” Steve suggested, but Bucky shook his head.

“She might, but what are we - well, _you_ , going to tell her? ‘Hi, are you Becca Barnes Taylor? This is going to sound crazy, but your dead brother is haunting my apartment. He's looking for something, but he doesn't know what it is or where it is. Could you maybe point us in the right direction?’ I've been dead for a week, Steve. They probably had a funeral a few days ago, without even a body to bury. She’s probably wrecked. I can't go and rub salt in a wound,” Bucky said, his shoulders slumping dejectedly.

Seeing how upset Bucky was for his sister, Steve nodded, closing the pocket calendar and regretting having picked it up. He couldn't help but admire Bucky’s decision to put his family first. “Okay, I understand. Hey, it's no problem. We’ll find something else.”

There wasn't anything else in Bucky’s apartment, so the two left. Steve shut the wrecked door behind him, kind of worried about just leaving it, but he didn't know what else to do.

“Doesn't matter,” Bucky shrugged. He gave Steve a lopsided grin. “I'm dead, remember? It wouldn't affect me if someone stole half my apartment and my kitchen sink.”

That night, they sat in front of the TV with a box of pizza Bucky was watching longingly but insisted Steve ate guilt-free, and watched _The_ _Martian_. During the movie, Bucky gasped at the right moments, and laughed at others. Steve was enjoying the movie, but he found himself stealing glances at Bucky. Bucky was so enthralled by the movie, so enchanted by it. He watched the sweeping shots of the rusty red Martian landscape with eyes full of wonder. He paid close attention as the main character struggled to survive and overcome all the problems that were thrown at him. He was on the edge of his seat during the suspenseful climax, and he sank into the couch at the end of it.

“Wow,” he breathed. “That was one hell of a movie.”

Steve found he loved how much Bucky had loved the movie. Bucky started talking about the movie and space, and Steve was more than happy to listen.

“Why didn't you become an astronaut or something?” Steve asked him. “You obviously love science.”

“Yeah, I do. But it would have given my mom a heart attack if I’d become an astronaut. She’d watch something like _The Martian_ or _Gravity_ and never sleep again for fear I was about to blow up in space. Which I guess is a poor excuse, given what I ended up doing. But when I was a teenager and talked about it, she always mentioned how scared she’d be for me, so I just didn't ever pursue it, you know? Ah, never mind, screw all that, that’s a crappy argument. Well, I guess it's really just - who becomes an astronaut? What are the chances that it’s you? I dreamed about it, but that's all I ever knew it'd be, a dream. I just had to stay grounded, get a real job.” Bucky looked a bit put out by the thought of that, so Steve tried to cheer him up.

“If it's of any comfort, you look an awful lot like that doctor astronaut,” Steve offered.

Bucky grinned. “Are you kidding? I’m way hotter.”

Steve suppressed the urge to say, “Yes, you certainly are.” This was followed by a stab of guilt - he wasn’t sure he should be thinking anything like that about anyone.

Silence fell, until Bucky said, “Sorry, that was awkward. What’d you dream of being when you were a kid?”

“Most of my childhood, I wanted to be an artist, but I already told you what happened with that…. For a while in high school, I wanted to join the army. I thought it'd be a good way to be helpful, but my mom got sick in my last year of high school. She told me then what she wanted most was for me to go to a good college, get a degree, and make a nice life for myself. So I did. She died just after I graduated.”

“I’m really sorry to hear that, Steve,” Bucky said, his eyes sad and compassionate.

“Thanks. I'm sorry, too, that was really depressing. I’m trying to think of something happier…. Oh, I wanted to be a superhero. The summer I turned six, I spent all of July and August running around in a full Captain America costume, despite how hot it was outside. Thankfully, I grew out of the phase by the time September rolled around. I can't imagine what would have happened if I'd showed up on the first day of first grade wearing a superhero costume.”

Bucky’s face split into a grin. “That would have been adorable, oh my god. I can totally see it. Do you have pictures?”

“I hope not, but there are probably still a few around here somewhere,” Steve chuckled.

The conversation didn't last too much longer. Steve bid good-night to Bucky and went to his bedroom. Before he got in bed, he remembered to gather all the discarded clothes in his room and dump them in a laundry basket. He'd stick them in the washing machine in the morning.

~*~

On Sunday, Bucky proposed they search Steve’s apartment.

“There's gotta be a reason I came _here_ , out of all the places” Bucky reasoned.

“Maybe it's just because I'm the only one who can see you,” suggested Steve.

“Maybe, but maybe the reason you can see me is because you have whatever it is I’m looking for, you know?”

They searched, but after a few hours, they didn't find whatever it was Bucky needed. So the rest of Sunday was spent just hanging out in Steve’s apartment. Steve had been wary at first - he didn't think he was very good at just talking and “hanging out.” But he had found it surprisingly easy to talk to Bucky, who seemed to go to great lengths to keep the conversation going. Steve supposed that was because he was the only person Bucky could communicate with, and Bucky didn't want to blow his chance. They fell into natural, friendly conversation without much difficulty.

Around two, Steve got a call on his cell phone from Sam.

“Hey, Steve, how's it going?”

“Not bad, how are you?”

“I'm good. Got a date tonight with a new secretary at the VA. His name’s Riley. Really nice guy.”

“Hey, that's great. Where are you going?”

“I thought we’d go to dinner, and maybe I’d take him bowling.”

“Bowling?”

“Yeah, more people are doing that as a date-thing now, although it’s my first time.”

“It’s your first time bowling?” Steve asked in surprise. Almost half of the birthday parties he’d gone to as a really young kid had been at a bowling alley.

“No, no, course not. It's my first time bowling on a date, and I guess it's my first time bowling in a while. A long while, which brings me to the subject - which is manlier? Using the bumpers or getting six consecutive gutter balls?”

“How about you use that ramp kids and elderly people have to roll their bowling balls down?”

Sam chuckled on the other end. “You're no help at all. I should just hang up right now, but I'm not.”

“If you need bowling tips, I'm not your guy.”

“Yeah, no kidding. But I did want to ask - how are things going with that ghost? You haven't seen him again, have you?”

Steve glanced over at Bucky, who was sitting on the couch, watching outside the window. “Actually, I have…. A lot.”

Steve explained Bucky’s situation to Sam, who was blown away by it. He looked up the SHIELD situation on his computer, and was breezing over that as Steve talked. “I found a picture,” Sam said. “Oh, James Barnes? Handsome man - oh my god.”

“What, what happened?”

“It’s the picture. There’s a red haired woman in it, Barnes has his arm around her.”

Steve remembered the woman from the post-attack interviews. “Oh, yeah, Agent Romanoff, right?”

“She came to the Friday meeting at the VA.”

Steve’s eyebrows flew up on his forehead. “Really?”

“Yeah. She didn't say much, except that her name is Natasha Romanoff, she used to be in the army and now she’s with a SHIELD special forces team, and she didn't want to talk yet, just listen.”

“So she’s new?”

“Yeah, I guess she came after the SHIELD attack,” Sam said. Steve could hear the pity in his voice. “Poor woman. That's that messed-up shit she went through.”

“Should we tell her about Bucky?” From the couch, Bucky looked up at the sound of his name. “Obviously they were close. Maybe it’d help her a bit to know he’s okay now.”

“I don't think that’s a good idea. I’m sure she’d love to hear that he’s okay, but she’ll never in a million years believe you. Well, maybe in a million years, but right now, she’s hurting badly. If you came up to her and told her that her dead friend was haunting your apartment, she’d probably yell at you or punch you where the sun doesn't shine.”

After getting off the phone with Sam, Steve told Bucky about Natasha’s appearance at the VA. As Bucky listened, his face shone with worry for his friend. Bucky looked so upset, Steve had to do something to help him.

“Hey, there’s gotta be something we can do for her,” Steve told him.

“Like what? You don't even know her. The two of you are strangers.”

Steve thought. “I could bring her some food or something. I don't know about her, but when Peggy died, I probably would have completely forgotten to feed myself, except people brought over food for me. Even some people I didn't know particularly well, or even at all, like Peggy’s colleagues.” An idea hit Steve. “What if I brought her something, and said I used to be a friend of yours? Went to the same college or something, and now I'm just kinda checking up on your friends.”

“Would you really do that?” Bucky asked, looking hopeful.

“Of course, it’d be no problem.”

“That’s so nice of you, thank you. Um, I don't want to be picky, because you're already doing so much, but could you not bring her a pie? Nat doesn't really like pies much.”

“No problem. Everyone always brings casseroles and pies, anyway, and I can't even bake a pie. I'm better at cookies.”

As it turned out, he wasn't.

Steve stared at the black crust spread across the pan he’d just pulled out of the oven.

Behind him, Bucky was trying, without success, to choke down his giggles.

“I thought I did everything right….”

“It looks like you didn't use enough flour,” Bucky said, still giggling. “How many cups did you use?”

“Three, just like the recipe said,” Steve said, checking the recipe he’d pulled up on Google, at a complete loss for how he had messed up so badly.

Bucky glanced at the measuring cups Steve had strewn across the counter. He pointed at one cup. “Is this the cup you used?”

Steve nodded.

“You used this to put three cupfuls of flour in the batter?”

“Yeah.”

“Steve. This is a half cup. You only used one and a half cups in the batter, not three.”

“Oh.” Steve scratched the back of his head, a small, embarrassed smile crossing his lips. “Damn.”

Bucky chuckled. “Don't worry about it, buddy, I've got you covered. I'm not much of a cook, either, but - no offense - I think I can handle cookies.”

“No offense taken. I don't think I've tried to bake in months. I was just happy that I remembered how to turn on the oven without burning down the building.”

Bucky read the recipe Steve had used as Steve cleaned the kitchen up for Round Two.

“You know what?” Bucky said. “Last time I went to Becca’s, she made sea salt chocolate chip cookies. That was mostly to appease her two-year-old kid, but I had some, and they were really, really good. You could probably find the recipe online.”

Steve was able to find a recipe that Bucky approved of. However, he didn't have any sea salt, so he had to make a trip to the grocery store. Bucky tagged along, for lack of anything to do while Steve was gone.

While Steve was searching for whatever aisle it was that had sea salt, he heard a cheery, vaguely familiar voice call excitedly, “Hey, Steve! Steve Rogers!”

Steve and Bucky both looked around, and Steve saw the dark haired, bespectacled girl from the game store waving at him as she jogged over, a grocery basket swinging in her right hand.

“Oh, hi. Darcy, right?”

“Yup, that's me,” she grinned. “Hey, how’s your ghost thing coming along?”

“Uh, pretty good.” Steve gave her a brief overview of everything that’d happened with Bucky.

“That's crazy,” Darcy said, her blue eyes wide behind her glasses. “Where’s he now, your apartment?”

“Right here, actually.”

“Oh! Hi Bucky!” Darcy waved, then frowned. “Wait, am I actually waving at him?”

“No, he’s on my left.”

“Oh, okay.” Darcy followed Steve’s directions and waved at Bucky. “Hi, Bucky.”

“Hi,” Bucky said, looking amused.

“He says hi,” Steve said, feeling a bit awkward talking for someone nobody else could see. “Hey, bit of a change of subject, but do you know what aisle the sea salt’s in?”

“Not off the top of my head, but I can help you find it. Come on,” she beckoned for Steve to follow her.

As they walked along, Darcy asked, “Whatcha need sea salt for?”

“Making cookies,” Steve said. “The last batch didn't turn out very well, so I’m starting over.”

“I can help you with that,” Darcy offered.

“Oh, no, it's fine, thanks, you don't have to - ”

“Nah, it’s fine. I'm pretty good at cookies, and my schedule’s clear until after dinner, then I’m going to the movies with my friend and her boyfriend. He’s like this absolutely huge Norwegian guy. Maybe bigger than you, and you're big,” Darcy said, patting Steve’s bicep. Steve didn't catch Bucky’s eyes lingering on him after Darcy’s comment.

So that’s how Darcy ended up in Steve’s kitchen, chatting happily to both Steve and Bucky, even though Bucky could only talk through Steve. Steve found he liked Darcy quite a lot - she was friendly and she was one of those rare people with irresistible personalities. With Bucky and Darcy for company, it was rather enjoyable baking the cookies. Darcy mostly directed Steve around, which he was fine with, since he didn't know what to do himself. It was fun, cracking eggs and mixing thick batter, and stealing a spoonful of sugary cookie dough despite Darcy’s shrieks that he was bound to drop dead of salmonella.

The new batch of cookies turned out infinitely better than the last, their tantalizing, chocolatey aroma drifting throughout the kitchen while Steve’s first attempt sat dejectedly in its pan in the sink.

“I think we should taste one,” Darcy said, eyeing the cookies as they cooled on a plate (Steve didn't have a cooling rack).

“They’re for a friend,” Steve explained. Darcy lips pulled down in an exaggerated pout.

“Aww. We can't have just one? I mean, what if something went wrong while we were baking them, and they're actually poisonous? We better check. It'd suck to give your friend poisonous cookies.”

The cookies _were_ pretty tempting, and the least he could do for Darcy after she’d helped him out was let her take a cookie.

“Alright, you can have one.”

“Well, you gotta have one, too! What if they're poisonous? I don't wanna be the one to find out the hard way.”

“I'm pretty sure they're not poisonous,” Steve assured her, smiling in amusement.

“We don't know that for sure,” Darcy insisted, picking up two cookies and handing one to Steve. “One won't hurt. Come ooooon.”

“Alright,” Steve relinquished, and he accepted the cookie.

“You first, Chef Steve,” Darcy said. Behind Steve, Bucky snorted.

“I don't think you deserve that title after earlier,” Bucky said. Steve ignored him and bit into his cookie.

The warm puddles of chocolate melted in his mouth, and were contrasted by the bite of the sea salt. The edges of the cookie were golden-brown and crunchy, and the middle was gooey bliss.

“Is it poisonous?” Darcy asked.

“I'm pretty sure it's not.”

“Good enough for me,” Darcy said before taking a huge bite. She chewed for a moment, then closed her eyes and moaned, “Oh my god, this is perfect. I'm only ever gonna eat these cookies again.”

Bucky groaned as he mournfully watched the two others. “This is killing me. Again.”

“Sorry,” Steve said, feeling a bit guilty, but he still quickly polished off his cookie. It was too good to resist.

Steve gave Darcy a small plate of cookies in thanks for her help. He had been about to set the cookies on a paper plate, but Darcy, “Nah, I need a regular plate or some Tupperware, so then you have an excuse to see me again, to get back your dish. Also, can I have your phone for a sec?”

Steve unlocked his phone and handed it to her, then started arranging the cookies on one of his regular plates.

“We’re friends now,” Darcy decided, typing into his cell phone. “Text me funny memes while I’m at work. That job’s so dull, I need some relief. Can't wait until I graduate this spring, maybe then I can get an actual job instead of that part-time hell.”

“Where do you go to college?”

“I'm getting my PhD in political science at George Washington University,” Darcy explained.

“Nice,” said Bucky, nodding approvingly.

Darcy handed back Steve’s phone. She was now on his contacts list, with a smiley face emoji next to her name.

“See ya,” Darcy said as she headed out the door with her cookies.

“Have a good evening.”

“You too!”

Steve felt pretty good after Darcy left - he’d liked having her around. But his spirits were dampened a bit by the knowledge that his next stop was Natasha’s, and he knew that would be painful for Bucky.

Bucky didn't remember her address, but Steve found it on Google. Once they reached her apartment door, Bucky was starting to remember her place a bit.

A blond man answered the door when Steve knocked. “Hi. Does Natasha Romanoff live here?”

“That's Nat’s boyfriend, Clint,” Bucky quickly explained as the man affirmed Natasha’s residence.

“I’m a friend of Bucky Barnes. Or, I was. We were online friends. I just got the news of his death a few days ago,” Steve said, letting his expression grow sad. “I'm kind of just making rounds, checking up on some of his family and friends.” Steve held up the cookies, extending them toward Clint. “I brought over some cookies, too.”

“Thanks, that’s really, really nice of you,” Clint said, looking pleasantly surprised. He opened the door wider. “Do you want to come in for a minute?”

“That's okay, I wouldn't want to trouble you,” Steve said.

Footsteps approached from the hall behind Clint, and Bucky leaned around Steve to get a better look at Natasha as she appeared beside Clint in the doorway. She was wearing a loose T-shirt, and her eyes were sad. She seemed to carry a heavy air about her, like a raincloud. Steve recognized the feeling.

Natasha’s eyes flickered from the cookies to Steve’s face, and she asked, “Hi, can I help you?”

“Oh, I was just bringing some cookies over,” Steve said, handing her the plate. She delicately took it.

“This is Steve Rogers, used to be a friend of Bucky’s,” Clint further explained. Pain flashed across Natasha’s face, but then her features smoothed over.

“Yeah? Well, it’s nice of you to bring these over, Steve,” Nat said, but she looked suspicious. Steve sensed he didn't want to leave any doubt in Natasha Romanoff’s mind about him, like she would do a background check on him once she shut the door.

“It's no problem. I, uh, my wife Peggy died a while ago, and she was with SHIELD, so I know what that’s like to lose someone in those sorts of circumstances - although I’m sure it’s very different for you, since you were there when it happened. But I just kind of wanted to do something for Bucky’s loved ones,” Steve said, and as soon as he said it, he knew that was the main reason he’d wanted to reach out to Natasha. He had wanted to do it for Bucky as well as himself. Bucky tore his eyes away from Nat to give Steve a look of pity, and admiration.

Natasha’s expression softened a bit. “I'm sorry to hear that. You’re Peggy Carter’s husband, aren't you? I knew her, and I remember there used to be a picture of your wedding on her desk.”

Steve knew the photo. He remembered when it'd been taken, and how happy he’d been. “Yeah, I’m her husband. Was, I guess.”

“Why don't you come on in?” Natasha offered.

“Thank you, but I just came over to drop off the cookies.”

“Alright. Thank you very much for these, they look delicious.”

“No problem, I hope you enjoy them,” Steve said. “I better get going now, but it was nice meeting you.” He started to turn away.

“Wait,” Natasha said, and Steve looked back as she stepped into the hallway. “I just want to say thank you for being Bucky’s friend, which maybe sounds silly, but the thing is - Bucky didn't have many friends or much of a social life, which I’m sure you know, of course. His life was mostly just work, and I really regret that for him. He didn't have much outside of his work, and it makes me feel a bit better to know he had you. You seem like a really nice guy, and I’m so glad Bucky had someone like you in his life. I want to thank you, on Bucky’s behalf and my own, for being there for him.”

Steve thought about that all the way back to his apartment. He and Bucky were both silent, lost in thought.

“I think,” Bucky said once they were back at the apartment and free to openly converse with each other, “what Natasha said may be the reason I’m still here. It’d explain why we can’t find what I’m looking for, because I’m not looking for something tangible. I think - I think I wasn’t satisfied with what I did in life. I didn't live enough during my life, so I hung back after I died, hoping for a second chance.”

It made sense, except it still left Steve wondering why Bucky would come to him. But he didn't bring it up then. Instead, he asked, “So what now? What do you want to do?”

“I - I don't know.”

“Did you have a bucket list to complete?”

“Well, I’ve always wanted to successfully break into the Pentagon.”

“Oh, geez. Um… I might not be able to help you there….”

Bucky cracked a grin. “I was just joking. I didn't really have a bucket list. Like Natasha said, my life was mostly just work.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Steve told Bucky.

It was only later that night, when Steve was lying in bed, Steve wondered what would happen to Bucky when his mission was fulfilled. Would he move on to whatever life was next? Just disappear from the earth forever? The thought made Steve’s heart squeeze tightly, and he realized he wanted Bucky to stick around. He liked Bucky a lot. He was a really good guy, a friend. Steve would hate to see him go.

~*~

“Can I come to work with you?” Bucky asked as Steve set his empty cereal bowl in the kitchen sink.

“‘Bring a Ghost to Work Day’ isn't until next week,” Steve joked.

“Oh, darn, I guess I marked my calendar wrong,” Bucky smiled before returning to the subject with all seriousness. “I know it’s a bit invasive, but I don’t have anything else to do.”

“My job sucks, Bucky. It’s really boring, and I couldn't talk with you, because there are other people there,” said Steve. “You might as well stay home.”

So Bucky remained in Steve’s apartment, and Steve spent his day typing on a keyboard. His mind kept wandering away from his desk, mostly to Bucky. He wondered how he was doing, what he was doing. At lunch, he considered taking a taxi and making a quick trip back to his apartment to check up on Bucky, but he ended up just staying at work. The work was, as usual, as dull as reading a dusty, thick, old textbook. Steve felt his spirits and energy waning throughout the day, until four o’clock rolled around, and he got to step outside into the spring sunshine and head home.

“Hey!” Bucky said cheerfully when Steve arrived at the apartment. Steve’s mood began to lift as he responded with his own greeting. “How was work?”

“Uneventful. How was your day?”

Bucky gave a half-grin. “Uneventful.”

“You didn't go stir-crazy?”

“Nah. I mean, I was a bit bored without you around, but I had the TV and my own thoughts, so that’s something.”

“Any good thoughts?”

“Finally figured out the solution for a problem I had at work about two weeks ago. That's so typical, to figure out what you could have done better long after you did it.”

Steve chuckled. “I completely get you.”

“Hey, wait - I just thought of this now. I think my situation now is kind of like my work problem. There’s nothing I can do about my unfulfilled life now that it’s the past. I can only move forward.”

“Move forward? In what kind of way?”

“I don't know, just roll with my current state of ghostliness. No one can see me, so I could do a lot of exploring. I can cut all the lines at Disneyworld and no one will ever know.” Bucky grinned like a middle-schooler with a mischievous plan in mind. “I could be a master spy. You could formally take the cases but then I could just sneak around and snoop on people without getting caught. Then I'll report to you, you report to the client, and boom! We have a business. _Rogers and Barnes_ , but no one will ever figure out who Barnes is.”

“If that’s what you're gonna do, I gotta ask you to go to my boss’s house and find out if it’s true that she has devil horns under all her hair.”

Bucky laughed. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Where do you think you’ll actually go?” Steve asked.

“I don't know. Which is kind of cool. I mean, I’m a bit uneasy about not having a schedule or anything, because generally my life is pretty well planned out, but at the same time, it sounds like an adventure. I can just walk around and see what there is out there for me.”

“That does sound cool. Are you - are you just going to keep walking?”

“Um, I was kind of thinking I would come back here, if that’s alright. It’s just - you’re a great guy and friend, and I like you, which is good, because you're the only person I can talk to.”

“No, I don't mind at all. Actually, I’m glad to hear it. I’ve liked having you around.”

Bucky’s lips parted in a smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Well, where to, first?” asked Steve.

“Ah, man, you're expecting me to actually go through with my plans? That's asking quite a lot,” Bucky chuckled. “Honestly, I really don't know where to start.”

“We could go on a walk. Bit of a lame start, but maybe we’ll see something, generate some ideas.”

“Sure,” said Bucky. “It’s been a while since I went on a walk. I mean, I've done plenty of walking, like to the gym or to get coffee, but I haven't gone walking for the sake of it.”

“Me neither,” said Steve, and off they went.

The evening air was refreshing, and Steve breathed it in deeply, letting it clear his mind and reinvigorate his body. Every now and then, Steve or Bucky would make a casual comment to the other. Otherwise, they strolled in peaceful silence. Steve saw a restaurant he was interested in going into, but he knew Bucky couldn't eat, and Steve didn’t want to be rude.

An ad in the restaurant window caught Steve’s eyes, and he paused to read it.

“What’s that?” Bucky asked, noticing Steve had stopped, and coming to join his side. “You're interested in baking lessons?”

Steve shrugged. “I had a good time yesterday, once Darcy came over and set me straight,” he said. “It's something I might look into.”

Bucky beamed. “That's great,” he said, “you should definitely do it.”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely!”

Steve took a picture of the ad on his phone. “I'll check it out online later,” he promised to himself, and he did. He signed himself up by the end of the week.

As time wore on, and the days eased into weeks, Steve felt a shift in his life. Work remained as dull as always, but the hours seemed to go by quicker, because Steve was looking forward to returning to his apartment. He liked seeing Bucky and hearing about his day, and sharing details about his own day. In the evenings and on the weekends, the two would explore the city, discovering reasons to smile such as seeing a kind exchange on the street, discovering an interesting store, or meeting friendly people.

Steve started taking better care of himself. Eventually, Bucky stopped having to remind him to eat. The apartment was given a deep cleaning, which Steve found extremely satisfying. He started the baking lessons, and the learning process was was slow, but steady. He hadn't burnt anything as badly as his infamous batch of cookies, so he counted that as a win. Steve started hanging out with Sam more often, and he’d met up with Darcy several times. And of course, there was Bucky, who was his almost-constant companion.

It wasn't until he had recounted a story of Peggy with only fond memories that he realized he had made such extensive progress. He realized he would always miss Peggy, but he’d moved on to the next stage of his life. He was happy and whole again.

There to share this new part of Steve’s life was Bucky, who had moved on as well, in his own way. Steve knew Bucky was frustrated by his disconnection from the world, his inability to be seen or heard or to even just move things. But he came to terms with his lack of control, and he was extremely grateful for what he did have - a chance to make himself happy. At first, Bucky had done that through following his passions as best he could. He had avidly watched documentaries on space and science, and visited museums. Eventually, he opened up to even looser forms of enjoyment. He took to wandering Washington D.C. and just seeing what there was to see. He always took Steve back to the particularly interesting spots.

Bucky did his very best to be a good friend to Steve, despite his limited interaction capabilities. Steve liked talking with Bucky, who was a good conversationalist and listener. Bucky was always game for joining Steve in whatever activities he was interested in (as best as he could), and he often encouraged Steve to get out and enjoy himself.

Steve discovered his affections for Bucky growing into something strong and non-platonic. There was something about the way that Bucky smiled that made Steve want to smile, too. Bucky laughed, and Steve’s heart raced. Steve felt good just being with Bucky, and he never wanted to leave Bucky’s side. Steve considered saying something to Bucky, but he thought about it, and realized that would be selfish. He knew that even if Bucky return his feelings, they could never have a complete romantic relationship. No kisses, no cuddles, no romantic candlelit dinners on anniversaries and Valentine’s Day. Steve would be willing to make the sacrifice, but he didn't want Bucky to have to. Bucky had enough griefs - a life only partially lived before it was cut short, a family who had lost him, and he was existing a world that couldn't see or hear him. Except for Steve. Steve was the exception - Bucky could talk with him, hang out with him, enjoy a friendship with him. Steve was the one heartache-free source of joy for Bucky, and he wanted to keep it that way if he could.

Steve stayed quiet, and did all he could to make Bucky’s existence as happy as possible. So one early Saturday morning, almost two months after Bucky’s first appearance, Steve and Bucky took the train from D.C. into Brooklyn, where Steve had grown up.

“I know New York like the back of my hand,” Steve promised as they got off the train. “I’ll take us to all the best spots.”

“Where would those be?”

“You’ll see.”

Steve decided to kick off the outing with a bang. He lead Bucky through a few subway stops, and then the two had to walk a few blocks to their destination. As they approached, Steve heard Bucky inhale sharply, murmuring, “Woah.”

As they reached the Brooklyn Heights promenade, they were greeted by a magnificent sight. Next to the promenade flowed the murky green East River, and across that lay Manhattan, where skyscrapers rose up into the cloudless mid-day sky. As Steve leaned on the railing lining the promenade, he looked to his right, and could see the Brooklyn Bridge stretching over the river.

Bucky stood on Steve’s right, grinning broadly. “This is amazing,” he told Steve, awed. “What an incredible view.”

“Yeah,” said Steve. “Couldn't think of a better way to start off the day than with this.”

“I can't imagine anything grander than this.”

They strolled down the promenade in the direction of the Brooklyn Bridge. Leafy trees bordered the side of the promenade opposite the river, their branches extending over the walkway and offering patches of shade. Joggers ran past families with young children and strollers, and a group of teenagers on bikes weaved their way through the pedestrians.

After enjoying the promenade, they walked to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. There, cherry trees were in bloom, their pink flowers decorating the elegant, spindly branches. The gardens sprawled over acres of land, which meant Steve could head to some of the less popular areas and find them completely empty. This made it easier for Steve to have conversations with Bucky.

“This is absolutely beautiful,” Bucky marveled as they walked down a stone tiled path lined with rows of pink, yellow, and purple tulips. Birds sang sweetly from the trees, and a gentle breeze swayed the flowers. “Did you ever draw much nature?”

“A bit. I did some flowers and a few landscapes, but my favorite things to sketch were portraits. When I was in college, and later when I worked as an artist, I’d take commissions and sketch people. I had connections with a few galleries, which was fantastic. I liked doing drawings for galleries the best, because I was able to create things entirely from my own imagination. I didn’t have to follow a commissioner's vision, you know? Also, it was always very satisfying to see my sketches hung up on a wall, and know that people would walk in there and admire them. Fairs were good, too. I’d go to street or art fairs for a day, set up a booth, lay out some of my works, and hoped people liked them enough to buy one.”

“I reckon they did.”

“Well, I got enough customers.”

“I’d think you’d get tons of customers. You're really talented.”

“C’mon, have you even seen any of my stuff?”

“Well, no, but if you don't mind, I'd really like to.”

Steve considered it. He hadn't touched most of his sketchbooks since Peggy’s death, but it couldn't hurt to show Bucky a few pictures. “Sure, tomorrow, when we’re back home.”

“You should have brought some paper here to do some sketches. I know you haven’t really sketched in a while, but maybe you could have found some inspiration here.”

Steve didn't say anything, but he had found inspiration long before the gardens. When Bucky tilted his head just so, or his eyes caught the light, or he was talking passionately about something he’d watched or read, Steve’s fingers itched for a pencil. He ached to capture Bucky in a picture - his chiseled jawline covered in scruff, his long, silky hair framing his face, and his eyes - Steve could spend hours looking into Bucky’s eyes. The silvery-blue of his irises should have made Bucky’s eyes cold and icy, but instead, they sparkled with warmth and friendliness.

Steve couldn't help but doodle sometimes when he was alone, using standard No. 2 pencils and scrap paper to sketch Bucky. Once Steve was finished, he carefully set the pictures in the top drawer of his nightstand. Steve figured it wouldn't be long before he pulled out an old sketchbook and began making new entries.

“Steve, you okay?”

Bucky’s voice drew Steve out of his thoughts, and he quickly nodded. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking.”

“Okay. I was worried all my questions had stirred up some bad memories,” Bucky explained, his tone apologetic and concerned.

“God, no, not at all,” Steve swiftly assured Bucky. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. More than fine, actually.”

Following the gardens, they stopped at a small Mexican restaurant so Steve could have a bite to eat. Steve took his food to go, munching on it as he and Bucky wandered through the neighborhoods of Brooklyn, enjoying seeing the communities. Bucky listened as Steve talked a bit about his childhood in Brooklyn, and Bucky shared a few of his childhood stories that he could remember (he still had trouble remembering details about his life unless he saw or heard something that jogged his memory). When it drew closer to evening, Steve caught a taxi. The taxi brought them to their last stop of the day - Coney Island.

Steve was glad to see the iconic park, full of brightly colored rides and excited yells. Bucky was also delighted to be there, saying, “This is so cool. I've never been here before.”

The last daylight hours were spent in the park, going on roller coasters and - on Steve’s part - consuming hot dogs. Not too long after nightfall, Bucky exclaimed, “Hey, I got an idea. Follow me.”

Bucky lead Steve through the park, and Steve got excited butterflies in his stomach when he realized where Bucky was taking him - the Wonder Wheel.

The frame of the towering ferris wheel was lit up in bright pink against the night sky. He and Bucky got into a white, enclosed passenger car with another five passengers. Bucky stood up and watched outside as the wheel began to turn, and the car rose up on the air.

“Wow,” Bucky said, grinning, as the car neared the top. “You can really see just about everything from here.”

Seeing how happy Bucky was made Steve’s heart swell, and a smile played on his lips as he watched Bucky, his face bathed in the pink lights from outside. Bucky noticed Steve was watching him, and he turned to return the fond smile. The two’s eyes were locked until the wheel jolted to a stop to let on more passengers, jerking them out of their reverie.

After the ferris wheel, they headed to the train station to catch their ride home. As the train rumbled toward DC, Steve fought sleepiness after the long day, and he thought about what it would be like to sleep next to Bucky if he weren’t a ghost. It would be so nice to lie in bed with Bucky, sharing warmth as their arms wrapped around each other, their legs tangled together in the crisp, cool sheets, Bucky’s head just underneath Steve’s chin. Steve realized just how badly he wanted to touch Bucky - take his hands, brush his thumb across Bucky’s sculpted cheekbones, kiss his soft, pink lips.

When they returned to Steve’s apartment, Steve wished he wasn't walking alone to bed.

~*~

The next week was uneventful. It wasn’t until Sunday anything in particular happened.

Steve was sitting at his table munching on a breakfast burrito he had made when Bucky sat down across from him. Bucky looked eager, but nervous, sitting on the edge of his chair and his eyes twinkling with excitement. It was an adorable sight, and Steve casually contemplated how he would sketch Bucky in this moment.

“I’ve been thinking,” Bucky began, “you’ve done so much for me in the past few weeks. I was hoping today we could change things up.”

“Bucky, you don't have to - ”

“No, no, I want to. I’d really love to do something for you, and I was thinking - how about we go to the National Gallery of Art?”

Steve and Bucky had been to several of the Washington D.C. museums. They had gone to the National Air and Space Museum, where Bucky had openly marveled at the space exhibits, and Steve had quietly marveled at Bucky. However, for no reason in particular, they hadn't visited any art museums.

Bucky continued talking. “I mean, I kinda wanted to take you to the Met in New York, but that’s a pretty long train ride away. Not that I’d mind, but I think your bank account would, and of course, the traveling can be a hassle. But I walked around the National Gallery and found some paintings I think you'd like. I remembered you said in Brooklyn you liked portraits,” said Bucky, shrugging nonchalantly like it was all no big deal. “And after that, we could go to museum cafe and you could get something to eat. Those museums actually have pretty good food. Or we could go somewhere else, I’ve seen a few places around here that looked good.”

“I’d love that, Buck,” Steve said sincerely, touched by Bucky’s thoughtfulness. Bucky looked happy to hear Steve’s response. “When do you want to go?”

“Whenever you're ready,” Bucky said.

Steve didn't waste any time getting ready to go. He put his breakfast dishes in the dishwasher, grabbed his wallet, and they were off.

The National Gallery of Art was located in a massive, white, Ancient Greek-looking building. Inside, people milled around brightly lit galleries, observing the hundreds of paintings that lined the walls. Seeing artwork again felt like coming home to Steve. The paintings greeted him like an old friend. As he browsed, he began to remember the names of artists and techniques he hadn’t realized he had forgotten. He was surprised by how _good_ it felt. The passion that had died with Peggy, and sparked back to life with Bucky’s appearance began to swiftly grow in size and steadiness.

Steve drank in the art, but he didn’t miss Bucky’s many glances at him. For hours, all that existed was Steve, Bucky, and the art. The rest of the world completely disappeared - until Steve’s stomach began to rumble with hunger.

“Do you want to go get something to eat?” Bucky offered immediately.

“I'm good,” Steve said, but his treacherous stomach started complaining again, loudly. “A few minutes, okay?”

It was still a while longer before Steve and Bucky left. They chatted excitedly about what they’d seen (Steve was too happy to care about any strangers who saw him apparently talking to thin air) before Bucky brought up the subject of dinner for Steve.

“I’ve seen a pub and grill down the street from your apartment. It looked pretty good. It’s new, just opened,” Bucky suggested.

“That sounds pretty good, I’ll give it a go.”

They took a taxi to the street the restaurant was on. Steve followed Bucky into a red-brick building that looked slightly squished between a Noodles and Company and a woman’s clothing store. A little sign in the front window announced that Maximoff Pub and Grill was newly opened.

The inside of the restaurant was small, but well-kept with clean tabletops and a swept floor. Steve took a seat at the smooth, wooden bar and opened a menu. Bucky sat on the stool next to him and stared enviously at a man eating a hamburger a few seats down from them.

“Hello, can I start you off with a drink?” offered the bartender, a young man with bleached hair and brown roots.

“Yeah, can I have a Guinness?”

“Yup,” the man said, going off to get Steve’s beer.

“Hey, you should get a hamburger, like what that guy’s got,” Bucky suggested, gesturing toward the man with the burger. “That looks so good. I need to live vicariously through you, or eat vicariously, I guess.”

Steve snorted and muttered as quietly as he could, “Jeez, Buck, if you and the hamburger need a moment alone, just let me know and I’ll get out of your way.”

“Ha ha. You think you’re funny, don't you, punk?”

“I've been told very funny, thanks.” The bartender came back with Steve’s drink.

“Here you go,” the man said, sliding the beer toward Steve. “Ready to order your meal?”

“Yeah, I’ll have the grilled cheese sandwich.”

“You want fries with that?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

Bucky glared at Steve. “Screw you and your grilled cheese.”

“Hey, be nice to my grilled cheese. Grilled cheese sandwiches have done nothing to anyone, ever.”

“My aunt died by choking on a grilled cheese.”

Steve’s face whipped toward Bucky, his heart twisting and dropping to the floor. “Oh. Oh god, I didn't know, I’m - ”

But Bucky was already cackling. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t but I just couldn’t help myself - ”

“Dammit,” Steve sighed, rubbing his forehead and then taking a long drink of his beer. “You’re a jerk, Bucky.”

Someone came and sat in the seat where Bucky was currently. Bucky gave an indignant yelp, and, feathers ruffled, he moved to the seat on Steve’s left.

“That’s what you get,” Steve muttered to Bucky.

“Excuse me?” asked the woman who had sat down.

“Oh, not you, I’m sorry - I was just talking to myself a bit,” Steve said, blushing. The woman didn't look entirely satisfied but she went back to her business, picking up her menu.

“Sorry, didn't mean to embarrass you,” Bucky told Steve. In response Steve just gave him a small nod to let him know it was okay.

The two remained quiet until Steve’s sandwich arrived. As Steve began munching on it, Bucky asked, “How is it?”

“It’s good,” Steve said aloud before remembering. The woman on his right shot him a disgruntled look, like she disapproved of him (seemingly) talking to himself. Steve felt a flash of annoyance - she didn’t have to be so openly rude. It wasn't any of her beeswax if Steve mumbled a bit, anyway.

A dark-haired waitress appeared behind the bar. She was holding a tray of food, clearly on her way to deliver it, but she stopped. Her eyes scanned the customers at the counter before settling on the seat Bucky was in.

Steve tried to look inconspicuous and focus on his sandwich, looking away from Bucky.

“Does she see me?” Bucky asked in a hushed voice. At that moment, she walked on. “Huh. That was... weird.”

Steve gave a subtle nod in agreement.

A moment later, the waitress returned, without the food. She stopped in front of Steve and asked, in a heavy Eastern European accent, “Could you come with me, please? You aren’t in any trouble. Bring your friend, too.”

“I'm not his friend,” the woman sitting by Steve said sourly.

“I didn’t mean you,” said the dark-haired waitress. Her eyes flickered to where Bucky sat. Bucky inhaled sharply.

“Can you see me?” he asked her, but she didn't respond. She just walked away. Steve and Bucky exchanged confused glances before they both stood up and followed the waitress.

The waitress lead him to the women’s bathroom. She checked that all the stalls were empty before ushering Steve in. Bucky entered as well, keeping a bit of a distance from the woman.

“I shouldn't be in here - ” Steve stammered, but she quieted him.

“Don’t worry. I’m the owner, Wanda Maximoff. You won’t get in any trouble,” she said.

“What do you want to talk to me about?”

“I don’t mean to alarm you, but are you aware that you’re being followed by a spirit?” Wanda asked, concerned.

Steve tried to conceal his shock - how could she know? Wary, he lied, “I - no, no I’m not. Not being followed by a ghost, I mean. I’m not being followed by a ghost.”

“I’m a bit of a psychic,” said Wanda. “I can sense energy. I can’t see him or hear him, but I can sense that the spirit right there.” She pointed directly at Bucky.

“Holy shit,” Bucky muttered, looking amazed.

Steve sighed. “Okay, yeah. I've got a ghost.”

“No, he’s not a ghost,” said Wanda, her kohl-lined eyes widening in surprise at his statement. “He’s not dead.”

“What?” Steve and Bucky both gasped, staring at Wanda in disbelief.

“What do you mean, he’s not dead?” Steve asked at the same Bucky spluttered, “I’m not dead?”

“I know what the energy of the departed feels like. Their energy can be strong, depending on the individual, but it’s not strong like this. His energy, his essence is still connected to the energy of the rest of the world. He’s just been severed from his body. Is he a coma patient? They’re known for out-of-body experiences.”

“No, he’s not. I don't know how he could be alive - he was in that SHIELD-Hydra incident weeks ago. He was killed.”

“It appears he wasn’t. He’s not dead.”

Steve didn’t know what to think. A million thoughts and questions flew around his brain like snowflakes in a frenzied storm, before suddenly one thought came into startlingly clear focus. Bucky seemed to realize it at the same time as Steve, and his eyes went wide in horror. “Oh my god. Hydra has my body.”

“Someone’s coming,” Wanda said suddenly, grabbing Steve’s wrist and dragging him out of the bathroom. As the door swung shut, someone rounded the corner of the hallway. It was Steve’s neighbor from the bar, who sent him a _look_ before breezing past him, into the ladies’ room.

“What do we do? Hydra has his body,” Steve said, terrified for Bucky.

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” Wanda fretted. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. Thank you - thank you for letting us know.”

He paid Wanda for his meal. Before they separated, she said, “Good luck to the both of you. Please come and see me if there is anything I can do to help.”

Steve and Bucky raced back to Steve’s apartment. Steve shut the door behind him, and the two exploded into conversation.

“Hydra has me. My body is in the bank where Hydra’s located,” Bucky said as he began pacing frantically up and down the hallway. “What are they doing to me? Am I going to be able to - to wake up or whatever from this?”

“We’ll get you out,” Steve promised, hoping to ease Bucky’s fear.

“How?” Bucky exclaimed, turning toward Steve. “SHIELD hasn't been able to crack the bank, and it’s been, what, two months? And they don't even know Hydra has me! Everyone thinks I’m dead. _I_ thought I was dead, until a psychic said I wasn’t, and SHIELD’s not going to consider that proof. They’re not coming back for me.” His shoulders slumped. “It’s like _The_ _Martian_ , and I’m Mark Watney.”

“No, it's not like _The_ _Martian_ , because I know you're not dead, and I swear, Bucky, I’m not going to just sit around with this information and do nothing. I’ll find a way to get you out of there. We’ll find a way. There’s hope,” Steve insisted.

“I want to believe you, Steve, but I just - I don't see any hope. I don't know how we could ever get me out of this.”

“Buck, look - before we met, I had given up. Peggy was gone, and she had been my everything. I didn't think there was anything left for me out there, but you showed me there was. You showed me there was always hope.”

Bucky listened to Steve intently. Once Steve was done, Bucky spent a moment in silence as he thought, before he nodded. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Okay. We’ll - we’ll find something.”

The rest of the evening was spent in tense silence, the day’s enjoyment forgotten as Steve and Bucky both thought over the situation. Steve desperately tried to wrap his mind around the fact that _Bucky was still alive, deep in a Hydra base, he’s still breathing and he can be saved_. He was determined to find a way to get Bucky out of Hydra’s clutches, so he sat down with a notebook and, in tight, messy letters, scrawled down ideas. However, nothing very good came to him - realistically, bursting in there by himself and fighting Hydra with sheer will and pure fury would likely just get him killed horribly - and after tearing out several pages of worthless plans, he was left with just a blank piece of paper. So he did what he almost always did with blank paper - he sketched.

It was just an idle doodle, really. It turned into a pageful of sketches, all of Bucky. He was in the middle of drawing Bucky’s smile when there was a ding from his phone. He picked it up, and looked at the text, from Darcy. _Hey, what’s the recipe for those cookies we made? Do you know it? Cuz Jane and her hot Norwegian boyfriend Thor are coming over Friday, AND Thor’s bringing his brother. I wanna snag a hot Norwegian boyfriend of my own, and those cookies seem like the trick._

Steve was in the middle of sending her the recipe when suddenly, it hit him - Natasha. She could be the key to saving Bucky. If Steve could somehow convince her Bucky was still alive, could she help him?

But Bucky wasn't much encouraged by the idea. “Steve, I’m really touched that you're trying to help, and I want to stay positive, but that’s not going to work. Natasha's one of the most pragmatic people I've ever meet. There’s no way we’re ever going to convince her of what’s going on unless we give her solid evidence.”

Steve wouldn't be deterred. “There's gotta be something we can do or say to convince her.”

“Like what?”

Steve thought for a minute. “You could tell me something only you would know about her.”

“I could,” Bucky agreed, looking still a bit dubious, but he considered it. “You could tell her that the last thing the two of us talked about was about how I was spending too much time working. That’s something only she and I know. But I still don't think this will work.”

“I know. But it's the only one we have now. It's a start.”

Steve was eager to take action, so less than 24 hours passed before he was at Natasha’s doorstep, Bucky nervously waiting behind him. Steve knocked on Natasha’s door. He and Bucky waited until it opened a moment later, and Natasha smiled when she saw Steve. She seemed to be doing much better than she had when Steve had first met her. “Steve, it’s nice to see you again. What brings you he - oh god, the plate! I completely forgot to get you back your plate, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine! Truth be told, I never even thought about that. I actually came here because I need to tell you something about Bucky.”

Natasha’s easy-going attitude slipped away, and her expression became somber. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, regretting that he had reminded Natasha of her grief. He knew how hard that was, remembering the death of a loved one. Steve’s consolation was, hopefully, this meeting would result in being able to save Bucky.

“Um, how about you come in?” asked Natasha.

Steve did, Bucky silently following. Natasha escorted him to her couch, where he sat down uneasily on the edge of the cushion.

“I'm really sorry, because this won't be easy to hear, and I doubt you’ll believe me at first.”

“What is it?” Natasha asked, sitting in a chair across from him.

Both Steve and Natasha took a deep breath to steel themselves for the next few turbulent minutes.

“Bucky’s still alive.”

Natasha’s face went white in an instant, and all her muscles tensed. She looked like a stern marble sculpture. “Excuse me?”

“He’s still alive. Hydra has him.”

“That - that’s an extremely serious declaration. How could you possibly know that?”

Steve tried not to squirm under Natasha’s unblinking, analyzing stare.

“You're doing good,” Bucky encouraged him, not whole-heartedly.

“You see - this sounds impossible and crazy, but it's not - Bucky’s been haunting my apartment, kind of. And I know I just said he’s alive, but the thing is - his spirit isn't in his body, and I don't know why or how, but Hydra still has his body.”

“I'm not going to sugarcoat this - I don't believe you and you're insane. I am going to get you your plate, and then I would like you out of my apartment immediately.”

Steve opened his mouth, but Bucky hissed, “No, no, she’s letting you walk away alive, take the deal.”

But Steve couldn't give up. “Please, wait - I know the last thing you and Bucky talked about. You were talking about how he worked too much.”

Natasha’s eyes widened. “How - how do you know that?”

“Bucky told me.”

“Impossible. He’s _dead_ , and how dare you come here and - and insinuate he’s haunting your apartment. Why the hell would you do that?” asked Natasha, standing up and staring down at Steve in cold fury.

“Steve, don’t,” Bucky said before Steve could speak. “I’m sorry, but she’s not going to believe you. Please, let’s just go before she punches you or something.”

Bucky’s eyes were pleaded, so Steve acquiesced. He changed paths, telling Natasha, “I - you’re right. I'm sorry for upsetting you.”

Without a word, Natasha stormed out of the living room. Steve hesitantly stood. A moment later, Natasha reappeared. She shoved a plate into Steve’s chest and growled, “Get out of my apartment.”

Steve did. Bucky followed, looking unhappy, but unsurprised.

“We’ll find another solution,” Steve said as he began to walk down the hall.

“Yeah. Guess it's my turn to come up with a plan now, huh?”

As it turned out, less than an hour later, a plan practically fell out of the sky and into Steve’s lap. And it started with food.

The two were walking past an Indian restaurant. Enticing, spicy smells wafted out of the front doors, and Steve’s stomach rumbled. “Mind if I go in and grab something to go?” he asked Bucky. Bucky didn’t, so Steve proceeded to grab a quick dinner. Once they reached home, Steve started digging into his samosas, the crispy shells of the patties crunching between his teeth as he ate.

“Mm,” he sighed blissfully, taking another big bite of the savory samosa. “I love Indian food.”

“Really? I've never been a fan,” Bucky said. “I'm just not into spicy.”

“Peggy wasn't either,” Steve said, grinning as he remembered - “She tried it once, and it was way spicier than she had anticipated. She tried really hard to keep her composure - Peggy was always very self-possessed - but her face turned as red as her lipstick. She still acted calm as she grabbed a napkin and spit the food into it. Honestly, I’m afraid I was laughing at her. She whacked my arm, but once she recovered, she laughed, too. I’m sure she never ate Indian food again. Actually, I’ve got another weird story about Peggy and Indian food, though it isn't nearly as funny.”

“You can share, if you want to,” Bucky said. He adopted a serious, attentive expression, the expression he always wore when he was listening carefully.

Steve chewed a bit of food as he contemplated how to share his story. “Well, the last piece of correspondence I got from her was an email. She sent it to me from her work, and I didn't actually see it until after I had found out she'd died in the car accident. But in the email, she was talking about going to an Indian restaurant for dinner, and she said that she loved it, and I hated it, when obviously it was the other way around. It’s always bugged me, because I still don't have a clue what she was talking about. The last thing she ever sent to me, and I can't make sense of it.”

Bucky’s head cocked to the side. “It didn't make any sense? Was the email itself confusing, or just the personal information?”

“What do you mean?”

“To someone who had never known you two, would it make sense?”

Steve thought. “I dunno. Maybe, yeah.”

“Could I see? I don’t mean to pry, but I have an idea.”

“Uh, sure. What idea?”

“I think it might be coded.”

“Coded? Like she sent me a secret message? Why would she do that?”

“I don't know, but we could find out,” said Bucky.

The two settled in their spots on Steve’s couch, Steve with his laptop. He opened up the email for Bucky to read.

_From: Peggy Carter_

_To: Steve Rogers_

_Subject: Dinner tonight_

_My darling Steve,_

_I was wondering - Would you like to go out to dinner at Annie’s or Ripple tonight? Or could we go to Rasika - You know I Love Indian food. However, I know you dislike it. Unfortunate._

_I’ll see you after work. I might be late, I apologize._

_I love you very, very much._

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said in a soft voice. Steve realized his eyes were wet.

He swiped at them. “Thanks.”

“I really am sorry, I didn't mean to reopen any wounds. But I’m sure there could be a message here.”

“You didn’t mean any harm, and besides, if there's a message, I want to know what it is.”

Bucky nodded and started working. For several long, silent minutes, Bucky just examined the email, his eyes scanning from left to right as his read it a few times over. “She capitalized the _L_ in ‘I love Indian food.’ That should be lowercase,” Bucky observed. “The ‘unfortunate’ was a bit terse. Did she call you ‘darling’ when you were talking face to face?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky looked over the email a few more times, then said, “I think I might be able to crack this. It’s very well coded. Anyone who doesn't know the two of you wouldn't think anything twice of it, it would just be an email from a wife to her husband about going out to dinner,” said Bucky. “I'm sorry, I think you'll have to be my hands for this.”

“No problem,” Steve said, eager to both help Bucky and get to the bottom of the email which had long evaded his understanding. “What do you need me to do?”

“Get a pencil and paper. A lot of paper,” said Bucky.

Dinner forgotten, the two established themselves on the couch with the laptop, a pencil, and a one-subject notebook Steve had found in a kitchen drawer. He flipped past the miscellaneous to-do lists to a blank page.

Bucky began to think aloud, experimenting with possible patterns. “Maybe it’s the capital letters,” he said. “She capitalized ‘Love’ unnecessarily. Write down all the capital letters.” Steve did. “Can you put them in an online anagram generator?” Steve did, but all they got was a lot of nonsense, filled with _I_ ’s. “Maybe it isn't the capital letters. Maybe it's the lowercase letters, and that's why she capitalized L. It was a letter she didn't need.”

“No, that can't be it,” Steve said. “How could Peggy have one message, add a few unnecessary letters, and anagram it into an entirely new message? I think she could do it if it were a shorter message, but this seems pretty long. I mean, I’m no expert - ”

“No, no, you’re right, that’d be pretty tricky,” Bucky said. Steve’s eyes settled on Bucky’s mouth as Bucky bit his soft lower lip, thinking deeply. “Take out all the _I_ ’s that are pronouns. Oh, did you add the _D_ , from ‘Dinner?’”

“No, I didn't,” Steve said, typing the corrections into the anagram generator and clicking the _go_ button. They still received thousands of results.

“Do you mind if I write down the letters?” Steve asked. “Maybe if we look at them ourselves, we’ll see some patterns the computer can’t.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Bucky, so Steve printed the letters at the top of a page in the notebook. _D M S W A R O R Y L I H U._

“ _Swam_ ,” Bucky said. “We've got the letters for that. _Rory.... War.... Dam.... Saw…. Hurry…._ ”

“There’s _sword_ ,” Steve pointed out. “ _Hoard… Draw… Your…._ ”

Suddenly, Bucky inhaled sharply, jerking back in his seat as though he had been slapped, startling Steve. “ _Hydra_.”

The word struck Steve like an ice-cold knife. “Hydra? You think she knew something about Hydra?”

Bucky anxiously ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe. It could be a coincidence, but it’s there. It’s a possibility.”

“Oh god. Oh god, Bucky, did - did Hydra kill Peggy?”

Bucky’s tight jaw went slack in horror.

“She knew something,” Steve realized, a dreadful sick feeling overcoming him. “She knew something, and they found out, and they killed her. They made it look like an accident, but they killed her. That must have been what happened.”

“That’s terrible,” Bucky whispered, shaking his head. “That's awful, Steve, I’m so sorry.”

Steve wasn't sure what to say. Numbly, he rewrote the remaining letters on a new page, leaving out the ones that spelled _Hydra_.

_M S W R O L I U._

“Are you alright?” Bucky asked, then winced. “I'm sorry, bad question. I mean - what can I do to help you?”

“Let’s just figure this out,” said Steve, his heart heavy. He met Bucky’s eyes and said, “That’s the only thing we can do for Peggy now.”

Bucky nodded, and dove into the work.

“ _Low. Slow_ ,” Bucky said as Steve scrawled down what he said. “ _Swum. Rum. Mow. Rumlow!_ ” Bucky’s hand flew to his mouth. “ _Rumlow is Hydra._ That’s what the message is!”

“Rumlow?” asked Steve blankly.

“He was on my SHIELD team,” Bucky said, and Steve remembered. “He must be a double agent, and Peggy found out he’s a part of Hydra.”

“He and Natasha were the only ones who escaped from the bank,” said Steve. “Hydra must have let him go, they wouldn't kill him if he's one of theirs - oh no. Natasha - ”

“ _No_ ,” Bucky turned to meet Steve’s eyes, his own suddenly firm and unyielding. “She's not Hydra. I am completely sure of that. Natasha isn’t exactly warm and cuddly, but she’s a good, loyal person. She would _never_ be a part of Hydra.”

Despite her anger toward him, Steve’d had a good impression of Natasha, and had difficulty truly imagining her as an undercover Hydra agent. Besides, he knew Bucky’s confidence in Natasha wouldn’t waver, and there'd be no hope of convincing him to reconsider.

On the subject of Natasha, another idea hit Steve. “What if we show Natasha this? Would she consider this proof?”

“Absolutely!” exclaimed Bucky, his eyes lighting up. “An email from Peggy Carter, containing a coded message, and sent right before she died. You said she died in a car crash? If Hydra knew Peggy had found them out, they could have arranged for the crash and made it look like any common traffic accident. With this, they can catch Rumlow, and _Steve_ \- he could be the key to getting into the bank.”

The grim mood in the room lifted with the arrival of hope. Steve’s heart soared. “We can get you out.”

Bucky looked as stunned as Steve felt. He sat back into the couch, his eyes wide with amazement, like he’d just witnessed someone walk a tightrope all the way over Niagara Falls. “I'm - I’m going to be okay. I mean, if Hydra hasn't completely ruined my body, I’m going to wake up from this. I have a second chance at living.”

It was like Christmas had come early, only a hundred times better as Steve realized - he had a chance. He had a chance of actually being with Bucky. But then, his excitement deflated, punctured by fear.

“You'll be able to remember this, right?”

“I think so,” said Bucky, frowning. “I mean, people who have out-of-body experiences in comas and surgeries always remember what they were doing when they were, you know, out of their body. At least, all the ones I've heard about, like that kid from _Heaven is For Real_.”

“But don't those people always go to heaven and back or something?”

“I think these situations are similar enough. Besides, are you saying I didn’t?” said Bucky.

“Jeez, Buck. I - I sure wouldn't call this place heaven. It's just my apartment.”

“Okay, this is going to be the absolute mushiest thing you will ever hear from my mouth, and I'm sacrificing my Man Card to say so, but being with you has been the closest thing to being in heaven I've ever known. I haven't been as happy as I am with you since I was in college, or maybe even before. I love being with you, whether we're touring Brooklyn or just sitting around doing nothing here.”

Steve’s heart was fluttering hopefully. “I feel the same. Just being with you makes me unbelievably happy, and… I like you a lot.”

Bucky’s eyes grew alert. “Like, what kind of like?”

“Well, I’d - I’d like to take you on a date. Sometime. You know, after all this is done and you can actually eat something, and I can hold your hand, and I just - I like you a lot, Buck.”

Bucky’s smile was as bright and beautiful as the sun, and Steve basked in it. “I’d like that. I like you, too.”

Steve was _dying_ to kiss Bucky then. His yearning was the only dark cloud in an otherwise blue sky, but he focused on the good. Bucky felt the same way Steve did, and he was going to be okay. The future was brighter than ever before.

~*~

Steve was probably crazy for trying to talk to Natasha less than a day after their last disastrous meeting.

Natasha didn't look at all happy to have Steve back on her doorstep. “I'm going to let you explain why you're back, and if it has anything to do with what happened yesterday, I’m going to kick you so hard in the nuts you'll see stars for days and may require medical care.”

Suppressing a horrified shudder, Steve said - not entirely truthfully, but it wasn't a complete falsehood, so optimistically he might be allowed to walk away unharmed - “It doesn't. But I think I can help with the Hydra situation, and I have actual proof.”

“What proof?” asked Natasha. Her face remained impassive, but Steve could tell she was interested. She listened carefully as Steve explained about Peggy’s email, and when he was done, she allowed him into her apartment so she could examine the email for herself.

Natasha sat down at the kitchen table with Steve’s computer, her fingers hitting the keyboard before Steve had even taken a seat across from her. Unbeknownst to Natasha, Bucky was watching over her shoulder. The kitchen was awkwardly silent, save for the clicking of computer keys and the scrape of Natasha’s index fingernail dragging over the computer’s touchpad. Her green eyes were narrowed and focused as she worked.

Finally, she announced, “It’s definitely not a fake email. I'll need more time to figure out if the code is genuine. Do you mind if I keep your laptop overnight?”

“Sure, no problem.”

The next day, Natasha turned up at his apartment, without his laptop. She apologized, explaining, “I was able to confirm everything you told me, so I brought the laptop to some higher-ups at SHIELD. Once they re-discover everything I did and argue uselessly for a good four hours, they'll arrest Rumlow and interrogate him. Quite possibly they can use his information to finally crack the bank, and wrap up this goddamned case. So thank you, for bringing that to our attention. But I was wondering - how did you decipher Peggy’s code?”

“It involves the thing-we-don't-speak-of, for the sake of my nuts.”

“I'll grant them amnesty.”

She seemed genuine, but Steve still hesitated.

“Just tell her,” said Bucky.

So Steve admitted, “It was Bucky.”

“I was toying with that possibility,” Natasha admitted. “No offense to you, but you lack the expertise to pick up on that sort of delicate code. I have a test - I’m going to make the rock, paper, and scissors hand gestures behind my back. If Bucky’s - ghost, I suppose, is really here, and only able to communicate with you, then he can stand behind me and tell you what hands I'm making. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve said as Bucky stepped behind Natasha.

“She's making scissors,” he reported, and Steve repeated this to Natasha. “Rock. Scissors again.” Bucky barked a laugh. “She's giving me the finger.”

“Don't give him the finger!” Steve protested, and Natasha’s eyes widened. She whirled around and stared behind her.

“Oh my god. Bucky?” She asked, a slight quaver in her voice.

Bucky’s eyes were a bit wet as he looked back at Natasha, who was staring straight through him. “Tell her I'm here.”

“He says to tell you he's here.”

Natasha’s lower lip quivered as she took a deep breath and then (in a manner that reminded Steve of Molly Weasley from Harry Potter) yelled, “ _YOU GODDAMNED IDIOT, DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH I GRIEVED FOR YOUR SORRY ASS?!_ ” Steve flinched, and Bucky’s eyes popped. He stumbled backward, straight through Steve’s front door. “ _I WAS A MESS! I TOLD YOU TO GET A LIFE, NOT FAKE YOUR DEATH, BECOME INVISIBLE, AND HOLE UP WITH THE HOTTEST SINGLE MAN IN D.C. FOR A SOLID TWO MONTHS WHILE I’M BUSY THINKING YOU’RE DEAD. I SWEAR TO GOD, ONCE SHIELD HAULS YOUR ASS OUT OF THE BANK I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!_ ”

She promptly spun around on her heel and marched into Steve’s kitchen, spitting out “What drinks do you have?”

“Uh - milk, orange juice - ”

“ _Drinks_.”

Steve blinked uncertainly. “It’s ten in the morning.”

Natasha shot him a glare that could wither a plant.

“I've got a couple bottles of Guinness, and I think some whiskey.”

“Any vodka? Tequila?”

“N-no, but I could run out and get you whatever you want - ”

“Don't bother. I'll take the Guinness,” Natasha said, plopping herself with a sigh onto a kitchen chair. Steve hastily got her the drink, and resisted getting one for himself. As he served Natasha her drink, Bucky reappeared in the doorway.

“Is she done yelling?”

“I think so,” Steve said.

“Mm?” hummed Natasha around the mouth of the bottle.

“Talking to Bucky.”

“Tell him when we get his body back from the Hydra base, I’m stripping him of his clothes and sending him to the coldest part of Russia with no company but the Yeti.”

Bucky gave Steve a wide-eyed, pleading look. “Can I just stay with Hydra?”

“He didn't mean to hurt you,” Steve defended Bucky.

“I know,” she said, sighing deeply as she set down her bottle. “It wasn't his fault, but - it’s been a bit of a hard time for me.”

Bucky watched her sorrowfully. “Tell her I can't say how sorry I am,” he said guiltily.

When Steve relayed this, Natasha said, “I know he is. He’s buying me a drink or several when he gets back. Which could be quite soon.”

“How soon?” Steve asked eagerly.

“SHIELD has to catch and interrogate Rumlow, analyze his information, create a plan, and initiate it. Bucky will likely require some sort of medical treatment after this. Of course, we don't know what he’s going through, but it can't be anything gentle if his soul didn't stay in his body,” said Natasha, her fingernails tapping anxiously at the neck of her bottle. Steve’s stomach turned, and he glanced at Bucky, who wasn't very comfortable, either.

“But he’ll be okay, right?” Steve questioned. “He’s made it this far.”

“He’s tough, and SHIELD is master of some of the most advanced medical techniques in the world, so there’s certainly hope,” said Natasha. She paused, then asked quietly, “How’s he been?”

“He’s been good,” Steve said. “I'm the only one that can see or talk to him. Miraculously I haven't bored him to death.”

Bucky chuckled, Natasha said, “How'd you come across him?”

“He just appeared in my apartment a few days after the SHIELD incident. He said he was looking for something, and I ended up helping him.”

“What was he looking for?”

“We actually don't know. He just had a gut feeling that there was _something_. But we both kind of forgot about a while ago, and we still haven't found it.”

“Maybe you did,” said Natasha thoughtfully. “The email you had is the key to saving Bucky from Hydra. Maybe he was drawn to you because you had the email, therefore you were the only one who could help him. That could be why only you could see him. Why would anyone else need to see him, if they couldn't help him, you know?”

Bucky nodded his head. “That makes sense. That actually makes a lot of sense. Typical of Natasha to figure that all out, she’s scary-smart. She’s scary-everything, really.”

Natasha’s phone buzzed in the pocket of her dress pants. She checked it and stood up. “That's work. I’m being called in. Must have something to do with Bucky’s case. What's your phone number? I'll call you with updates when I can.”

Steve received one such update in the evening, reporting that Rumlow had been busted, and his interrogations had begun immediately. Halfway through work the next day, Steve took a call from Natasha. He scurried to the bathroom for some privacy.

“ _He’s confessed everything_ ,” she said. “ _He’s a goldmine of information. He said the attack on the bank was actually planned by Hydra. They leaked their own whereabouts, and of course, SHIELD caught on. Rumlow lead SHIELD’s STRIKE team, and purposely underprepared us, giving us tranquilizer guns and telling us only to disarm. It was supposed to be a display of Hydra’s power - take down SHIELD’s best team in one go, and who else would dare to touch them? But now, we know everything we need to about Hydra, and we’re working on a rescue plan._ ”

“What about Bucky? What’s happened to him?” Steve asked, fearing her answer.

“ _I’m going to warn you, this will be hard to hear_.”

Steve leaned heavily against the sink, his left hand tightly gripping the edge. “Just tell me.”

“ _When the team entered the Hydra base, Bucky survived the initial gunfight, but was wounded and unconscious. The other wounded survivors were shot dead, but Hydra was interested in Bucky’s arm - his left arm is an advanced metal prosthetic, and they wanted to study it. They thought they could use models based off it as weaponry and enhancements for their agents. A scientist high in Hydra’s ranks wanted to inspect the arm himself. However, the scientist - a Doctor Zola - was out of the country, so Hydra put Bucky into cryostasis._ ”

“Cryostasis?” Steve’s stomach dropped.

“ _It was easy storage. Stuff him unconscious in a freezing tank, and you don't have to feed him or keep him in line. That’s where Bucky's been for the past two months - sleeping away in a tank. That must be how his current situation is possible. It’s similar to the out-of-body experiences that coma patients have_.”

Steve felt sick to his stomach. He turned to the mirror and saw his face was grey.

“Will he be okay?” His voice cracked.

“ _Once we get Bucky out, he’ll need critical medical treatment. His wounds weren't treated very well, and his body will have to recover from being frozen and all. It won't be fun or easy, but I think he’ll survive_.”

Steve’s breath came a bit easier. “You're sure?”

“ _Positive. We’re working on a rescue plan now. We’re pretty sure we’ll get into the bank sometime tomorrow. Bucky should be back in our hands within 30 hours. Don't worry - I won't let anything happen to him._ ”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“ _Just be there for Bucky, okay?_ ”

“Of course.” Steve would have done that without being told.

Steve was extremely worried for Bucky, but at the same time, he was excited. When (not if, when, Steve reminded himself) Bucky was safely back in his own body, they would be able to pursue all the things normal couples did, all the things Steve had been longing to do. The thought caused his heart to leap in excitement.

That night, Steve wanted to try to keep the mood hopeful, so he and Bucky lay on his bed and talked about all the things they would do once Bucky was alright.

“First things first,” said Bucky, laying on his side, facing Steve, “we’re going to all the restaurants you've dragged me into, and at each one, I'm going to eat a very large meal while you just sit and watch.”

Steve groaned and covered his face, guilt welling up in him even though he knew Bucky was only jesting. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry - ”

“I'm getting my burger. Not that lame grilled cheese of yours. A big, fat, juicy hamburger.”

“Hey, it was a good grilled cheese, okay?”

“But not as good as the hamburger. The beautiful, glorious hamburger.”

“And I thought _I_ was your love interest.” Steve placed a hand over his heart, feigning hurt. “Buck, I thought we had something special.”

Bucky just grinned and joked, “You can't really compete with the hamburger.”

“My grilled cheese and I have had enough of this slander. We’re leaving.” But Steve stayed right where he was.

“Aw babe, don't be like that. I'll make it up to you,” Bucky smirked.

“Yeah? How do you plan to do that?”

“Mm, well, I could take you out,” suggested Bucky. “We could go - I dunno, it's been ages since I’ve dated. What about a movie? Is a movie too casual? Would dinner be better?”

“Anything’s great, as long as it’s with you.”

Bucky’s eyes grew tender, and Steve could feel his own face melting into a similar expression. For a minute, they just lay there, content to be smiling at each other.

“I just want to be with you, anywhere doing anything,” confessed Steve, and suddenly, all his desires that he had bottled down came tumbling out. “I want to walk down the street with you, hand in hand. Go to a movie and be that annoying couple in the back row that makes out instead of watching the screen. I want to take your face in my hands and kiss you until I can't remember my own name. I want to fall asleep next to you every night and wake up next to you every morning. Make you coffee and breakfast - or, actually, I think I better just take you out somewhere.”

Bucky laughed. “Yeah, but you’re getting better at baking now.”

“Yeah, I am,” Steve said, a note of pride in his voice.

“But anyway, I want all that, too. I want you to be with you for the rest of my life, Steve. Till the end of the line.”

“Til the end of the line,” Steve promised.

Bucky smiled. “So in all seriousness, what’s the first we’re going to do when I’m back to normal?”

“Kissing. Definitely kissing, if that’s fine by you.”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ve been dying to kiss you for ages. Well, a month.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “Really? You’ve - you’ve known for four weeks you liked me? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well, for one thing, I didn’t know for sure if you felt the same. But additionally, I felt like I could be a better friend than boyfriend to you. Not because of my dating skills, which are fabulous by the way, but because we couldn't have a normal relationship. No touching and all. I didn’t want that to be one more thing you couldn’t have. Friendship worked, though, and it worked well, so I stuck with that.”

Bucky looked amazed. “Wow. That’s - that’s really thoughtful, thank you, Stevie. You’re undoubtedly the kindest man I’ve ever met.”

Steve blushed. “That’s not true, but thank you.”

“It’s definitely true.”

“No, there are definitely kinder men. I mean, the second conversation we had, I threw something at you.”

Bucky sighed, shaking his head in amusement. “Dammit, Steve, let me romance you.”

Steve laughed aloud. “Sorry.”

~*~

Steve called in sick to work the next day - he didn't want to leave Bucky all alone, his only company the knowledge that across town, SHIELD was working on breaking into the bank. The two stayed in Steve’s apartment and marathoned movies, trying to take their minds off things.

Around two in the afternoon, Steve got a text from Natasha. _We have him. He’s going to be transported back to SHIELD in the cryostasis tank, then our medical teams are going to work on getting him out safely._

“They’ve got you, Buck,” Steve announced, glancing up at Bucky.

“Yeah?” Bucky’s shoulders, which had been rigidly straight with tension, relaxed. He still looked worried, but both the men knew the greatest danger had passed.

“You'll be okay. SHIELD can take care of you now.”

“I know I’ll be okay,” said Bucky. “I can't abandon you now. We haven't even had a first date.”

“What do you call Brooklyn, then?” asked Steve, feigning offense, but his smile must have given him away.

“Very true, my bad. Alright, we haven't had a first kiss yet. How’s that?”

“Much better.”

They kept watching movies, but Steve didn’t think either of them could pay much attention to the TV screen. Steve kept fidgeting. He hated that there wasn't anything more he could do to ensure Bucky’s safety. Bucky’s gaze was fixated on the TV screen, but his eyes were glazed over, and his eyebrows were drawn close together. He looked lost in thought. Steve tried to find something to say, but failed. He scooted closer, wishing he could take Bucky’s hand and squeeze it comfortingly.

Suddenly, Bucky gave a sharp gasp, and disappeared.

Steve felt his heart plummet into his stomach. “Bucky?” He jumped off the couch and looked around, calling, “Bucky?” There was no reply.

He grabbed his phone, and trembled as he texted Natasha _What happened? Is he okay?_

Anxiously, he waited for Natasha’s reply, which came a minute later. _Don't worry, he’s okay._

Steve sighed and sunk into the couch, relieved of his biggest fear that Bucky had died.

After another minute, Steve received another text elaborating: _They got him out of the tank, and he woke up. They're putting him under anesthesia and treating him. In addition to a few problems from the cryosleep (hypothermia and possible damage to the cells or internal organs), he has bullet wounds to the abdomen and right shoulder. However, assuming the cryosleep did nothing serious to his insides, he should heal just fine. Bullet wounds and hypothermia are old hat for Shield’s doctors._

The worry that Bucky’s life hung in the balance drained away, leaving Steve with the inevitable anxiety that comes with knowing a loved one is being taken care of in the hospital. Determined to do his best to stay positive, Steve assured himself, “He’s going to be okay.”

Steve wondered if Bucky would reappear while he was under anesthesia, but Bucky didn't show up. He waited, his mind occupied with worries of - what next? When would he see Bucky? Would Bucky remember his time as a “ghost?” Would things be awkward? How would their relationship change? He tried to shove away these thoughts, but they kept creeping up on him. With a sigh, Steve fetched his jogging shoes, and headed out to the streets of D.C., hoping the exercise would help ease his stress. Thankfully, a few miles later, he did feel a bit better.

Over the next day, Natasha sent regular updates.

_Surgery’s going well._

_Recovered from hypothermia._

_He’s out of surgery._

Steve asked her _Can I see him?_

 _Technically, just his family can visit._ (Steve realized with a jolt that Bucky’s family must have just gotten the news that the son and brother they had thought dead was in fact alive. What a wonderful and terrible shock.) _However, I can get you in._

Steve wasn’t eager to break any rules, and he didn’t have a good feeling about Natasha’s methods of getting him in. However, his discomfort was forgotten when Natasha let him know he could visit whenever he wanted. Steve wasted no time in racing to the SHIELD medical center.

Natasha met him there. She had dark circles under her eyes, but she was as calm and collected as ever. “He hasn't woken up yet,” she said as she lead Steve to Bucky’s room. “His family’s here, too.”

Sure enough, there were five anxious-looking people gathered around Bucky’s bed. Bucky. Even though he was unconscious, pale, and limp, Steve thought he was one of the most beautiful sights Steve had ever beheld, because Bucky was _there_. He was physically there, his metal arm gleaming under the sleeve of his blue hospital gown, his hair pushed neatly away from his face and spread across a crisp white pillow. Bucky was hooked up to all sorts of IVs and monitors, the heart monitor beeping steadily.

“Everyone, this is Steve Rogers,” Natasha announced to the room, jerking Steve’s attention away from Bucky. Steve could recognize them all from Bucky’s pictures - his father, mother, and three sisters, Becca, Emily, and Leah. Bucky’s parents’ faces were more drawn in real life then they had been in Bucky’s pictures, and streaks of grey had appeared at the temples of Mrs. Barnes. Steve suspected these changes had been recent developments, an embodiment of their pain, and felt a rush of pity for the entire family. “Steve’s the one who had the email that lead to Brock Rumlow’s arrest, and Bucky’s successive liberation. He’s also a more recent friend of Bucky’s. They met online.”

Mrs. Barnes rose from her seat and, to his surprise, brought Steve into a tight hug. “Thank you,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for bringing him back to us.”

“I - of course, ma’am,” Steve said, taken aback by Mrs. Barnes’s thanks. He’d never thought of what he was doing as ‘heroic,’ he was just doing what had to be done to save Bucky.

“You'll never know what it means to us,” she said, squeezing him one last time before letting him go.

Becca, who had been watching Steve closely since he had entered the room, nodded in agreement with her mother. Emily pulled up a chair for him, and he sat down, trying not to stare at Bucky too adoringly. He apparently failed, because he caught Becca narrowing her eyes at him.

“This is the first time I've actually seen him in person,” Steve said, hoping to relieve her of any suspicions. “He sent me a wrong-number text a couple months ago, and we ended up talking, and went on to become friends. He’s told me a bit about you all, and I can tell you’re a close-knit family.”

“We certainly are,” agreed Mrs. Barnes, fond but sad as she gingerly touched Bucky’s metal hand. Steve sat between Emily and the senior Mr. Barnes, down by Bucky’s waist. “How about you, do you have family?”

“No,” Steve said, “my parents are both gone, and so is my wife. She was a SHIELD agent herself, and it’s thanks to her and her quick thinking that SHIELD was able to catch Rumlow.”

Natasha, who was hanging by the doorway - likely staying to make sure Steve didn't accidentally say something that revealed how he had really met Bucky, and Steve was surprised he hadn't yet - pitched in, telling Steve, “Rumlow said that Ms. Carter had picked up on something he had said that was a bit off. She apparently investigated it, and Rumlow caught her in his office one day, closing something on his computer. He feared she had found out about his Hydra identity. So, he alerted Hydra, and that same day, they arranged for her death in a car crash convincingly made to look like an accident.” Natasha gave him a deeply apologetic look.

It was a painful truth to hear. Steve’s heart grew heavy. Mrs. Barnes reached across Bucky’s bed, and took his hand. “I'm very sorry,” she told him, her brown eyes sincere.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice wobbling a little. “I’ll be okay.” And he knew it was true. “You know, I was broken up after my wife died. Kind of gave up on life, because I didn’t think it could could be worth anything if my wife wasn’t there. But then, I met Bucky, and he showed me to stop pitying myself, pick myself up off the ground, and get back into the swing of things, because there were a lot of great things that I was choosing to miss out on. I’ve come a long way, and I’ve got him to thank.”

Mrs. Barnes’s eyes were wet as she said, “I’m very glad to hear that my son’s had a positive influence, and that he could help you.”

From there on, Mrs. Barnes seemed to look out for Steve, making sure he felt comfortable. She didn’t have to go to terribly long lengths - Steve got along very well with all of the Barnes family. The group easily fell into conversation, and by the end of the day, Steve felt familiar with them all, like he had known the family for much longer than one day.

All of the Barnes left that night - Becca had her young daughter to look after at home, Leah insisted both Mrs. and Mr. Barnes needed proper rest and went home with them to ensure they got it, and Emily had her second-grade class to teach the next day. Steve was left alone with Bucky.

“This is familiar,” Steve said aloud to Bucky. His voice was the only sound in the room, save for the soft beeps of the monitors. “Just you and me. I can’t believe you're actually here.” Steve reached out, and took Bucky’s hand. It was warm and solid in his own. Bucky’s fingers were long and dexterous-looking, and Steve wanted to kiss each one by the fingertip. Steve’s thumb gently rubbed the back of Bucky’s hand.

The hours ticked by, but Steve was too lost in thought to notice. He did notice, however, when Bucky took a deep sigh, and the hand Steve still held in his own twitched. Steve looked at Bucky’s hand, and his gaze traveled up to Bucky’s face. His breath hitched when he saw Bucky’s eyelids flickering. Bucky gave a low moan before his head lolled toward Steve, and his eyes blearily blinked open.

“Steve?” he asked sleepily, his voice husky.

“Yeah, Buck, it’s me,” and Steve’s heart could have burst out of his chest for joy. He tightened his grip on Bucky’s hand.

“I remember,” Bucky said, and a languid smile spread across his lips. “I remember you, and the apartment, and - and everything.” He seemed to become conscious of his hand in Steve’s, and behind the haze of medications, his eyes light up with realization. “Oh my god, I’m not - I - I can touch you.” His hand weakly squeezed Steve’s. His eyes were glued to Steve, hungrily taking him in.

It suddenly overwhelmed Steve, the fact that he was with Bucky in the flesh. His heart rate picked up and his eyes prickled. Bucky’s eyebrows pinched together in worry.

“Are you okay? Don’t be sad, Stevie,” Bucky implored.

“No, I’m not sad, Buck, I’m just - I’m just really, really happy,” Steve said. He lifted Bucky’s hand to his lips and pressed a long kiss to the back of it.

Bucky beamed, but he started blinking tiredly. His hold on Steve’s hand relaxed as the medications began to drag him back under.

“‘M sorry, getting sleepy,” Bucky said.

“That’s okay, Buck. Go to sleep.”

“Be here when I wake up?”

“I’ll be here, I promise.”

“I love you, Stevie,” Bucky murmured as he slipped back into sleep.

~*~

Bucky continued to heal. He woke up several more times over the next few days, gradually becoming more alert. He recovered at a steady pace, without any unpleasant turns or surprises, and eventually, he was allowed to return home. He went to stay with his parents for a while, in the house where he had grown up.

The Barnes backyard set the scene for one particular summer evening. Steve and Bucky sat side-by-side, leaning against the gigantic trunk of an oak tree that had been there since before Bucky had been born.

It was there Steve mentioned Bucky’s proclamation in the hospital. Steve recalled the memory fondly. Bucky was mortified.

“That's absolutely not how I imagined it'd go the first time I told you that,” he confessed, covering his eyes in embarrassment.

“Oh? How did you imagine it?”

Bucky’s face turned toward Steve, his expression nervously excited, like he had just been offered to make the winning shot of a state-champion basketball game. His eyes flickered to Steve’s lips, then back to his eyes, and he whispered, “More like this.” Bucky leaned forward, and Steve met him halfway, their lips brushing together tenderly. Bucky’s metal hand reached up and gently caressed Steve’s jaw as their mouths moved together, Bucky’s warm and sweet and inviting. When they broke apart after what seemed to Steve like a blissful eternity, Bucky murmured, “I love you.”

“I love you.”

  
~*~

~ _epilogue_ ~

The day began at 5:30 - Steve and Bucky woke up together in their bed as their alarm clock went off. They walked through the chilly December morning to the gym, where they spent half an hour working out. They returned home, where Bucky got ready for work, and Steve whipped together a quick breakfast for them to share.

Bucky left for work around 7. Bucky had kept his SHIELD job, but as he had recovered from his wounds, he had also recovered from his workaholic habits. His work became a smaller part of his life, and voluntary overtime became only a distant memory. Instead Bucky’s free time was spent with his friends and loved ones.

Steve, however, had quit his data entry clerk job altogether, and had picked his art back up. Steve thought the only person who had been happier about that than himself had been Bucky.

“That was a miserable job, and I know you’ll be a thousand times happier working as an artist,” Bucky had said, reaching for a celebratory bottle of wine and two glasses.

It had been a bit difficult getting the ball rolling again - Steve’d had to brush up on his technique, and he’d had to work hard to build a new reputation. In the beginning, he didn’t make very much, but even so, he had been delighted to be an artist again. To save money, Steve had moved in with Bucky, something both of them had been rather pleased about. They had gotten rather used to each other's almost constant company when Bucky had been a ghost, and Steve found it more natural than not to share his life with Bucky.

Steve spent his morning and afternoon working on his art. Christmas was close, which meant lots of art commissions for Steve as people scrambled for a thoughtful present to give to their loved ones, providing a welcome boost in Steve’s business. Steve was paid to draw wives, husbands, children, pets, and in one memorable case, a portrait of Gandalf.

In the evening, Steve ran errands - dropping off a commission, grabbing groceries - and met Sam for dinner at Maximoff Pub and Grill.

As he entered the restaurant, Steve waved hello to Wanda, who was taking the orders of a family seated near the entrance. Wanda smiled and returned his greeting before resuming her work. The two of them had become friends shortly after Bucky had been rescued from Hydra, starting when Steve had gone back to thank Wanda for her help. Steve and Bucky’s social circles had grown extensively over the past few months, and now included Wanda, Sam, Darcy, Natasha, Natasha’s boyfriend Clint, and others. Of course, Bucky’s family was also a huge part of both Steve and Bucky’s lives. The Barneses had embraced Steve, and he considered them a second family. Initially, Bucky’s sister Becca had been suspicious of Steve, but once she saw how happy Bucky was with Steve, her worries faded. She got along with Steve as well as the rest of the family did.

Steve met Sam at a small round table for dinner and conversation. They caught up on what had occurred in their lives since they had last met, and spent a great deal of time discussing their Christmas plans. Sam was going to celebrate the holidays with his family, and Steve was to join the Barnes family on Christmas Day.

The dinner was low-key and enjoyable, and at the end of it, Steve walked away grateful to have spent the evening with his friend. When he got home, he found Bucky was leisurely stretched out across the living room couch, reading.

Steve leaned over the back of the couch, looking down at Bucky with a grin. “Hey.”

“Hey,” said Bucky, setting down his book. “How was your day?”

“It was a long day, but a good one. Yours?”

“It was good,” Bucky said. “Wanna go on a walk?”

“Sure,” Steve agreed, so they bundled up and headed outside.

It was an unusually chilly night, and the December air nipped Steve’s nose and cheeks. Steve rather disliked the cold, but he decided it was worth it to put up with it, because the D.C. neighborhoods were all spectacularly decorated for the holidays. Strings of lights were wrapped up around tree trunks and hung over the streets. Wreaths with large red bows adorned front doors, and the cheery lights of Christmas trees shone out from living room windows. Steve could heard the faint strains of Nat King Cole’s “The Christmas Song” playing from inside a bookstore.

Bucky’s right hand brushed against Steve’s pocket. Steve immediately withdrew his hand from his pocket and laced his fingers between Bucky’s. The couple walked hand-in-hand for a few more blocks before they became so cold not even the enchanting beauty of the Christmas decorations could convince them to stay outside. Back at home, Bucky switched on the lights in the apartment as he started chatting animatedly about a science expo he wanted to see in the spring. Steve listened attentively as they both sat down in the living room, which was filled with the warm light from the Christmas tree in the corner. After a few minutes, Bucky had said all he had wanted to about the expo, and started watching a space documentary on television. Steve turned to his latest commission, a sketch of a labrador puppy. He sat cross legged on the couch, balancing his drawing board on his left knee. The TV and the scratch of pencil on paper were the only sources of sound in the room, until Steve heard the click of a camera shutter. He looked up, bewildered, and saw Bucky had taken a picture of him on his phone.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to distract you,” said Bucky as he set his phone down on the arm of the couch. He smiled fondly as he continued, “I just really love watching you when you're drawing. You hunch over your paper and you're so focused, and it’s really cute. I can see that you’re in your element, and it’s great to see you doing what you love.”

The love on Bucky’s face was clear, and Steve could feel himself melt. He was hit with a sudden surge of gratitude that he had Bucky in his life, a man who loved him and who he loved right back.

Steve briefly considered turning over his paper and starting a new sketch of Bucky, his features soft in the glow of the Christmas tree. He decided instead to lean over his drawing board and press his mouth against Bucky’s. It was a sloppy kiss, both of the men fighting back their smiles. It was just like heaven, only better, because it was on Earth and with Bucky. Life, Steve thought happily, life was good.

**Author's Note:**

> I had an absolutely wonderful, crazy time writing this. I feel like a grew a lot as a writer, so huzzah! 
> 
> I'd like to thank my family for putting up with me hiding away to write and with my excited squeals and loud groans. 
> 
> Shoutout to all those at thestuckylibrary who behind the Stucky Big Bang - everyone appreciates all your hard work, and thank you very much. Shoutout to all the other Big Bang writers - this stuff's hard, and you all rock! 
> 
> A MILLION THANK YOUs to theladymania on Tumblr for the beautiful art! 
> 
> And thank YOU, if you've read all the way to here. I hope everyone enjoyed! Some kudos and comments would be lovely, and I'd really appreciate some constructive criticism. 
> 
> \- dancingkitkat


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